Brothers In Arms
by Idril Isil Gilgalad
Summary: Rick has lost almost everything. Daryl happens to be the one to push him forward -in his own way-, something he never thought he would do. Set AFTER the Prison Cycle. Major spoilers from the comics - read inside. Slash Rick/Daryl.
1. Prologue: Made To Suffer

So, here we are. Once again, I'm amazed I actually got to write all of this, especially in so little time. And during my university time, not even on vacation! This single fict is the longest thing I've ever written. EVER! Well, it's close to a Silmarillion fict I wrote but I haven't gotten around to complete it; but that's another story.

Anyway, here we are. I'm so very glad to see how many people have read 'Look At Me' (or 'A Man Of Honor'), and that drove me forward. Writing in English is also an incentive; is kind of a challenge I set for myself (as some of you may know, English isn't my native language). And last but not least, when I found the song by DeVotchKa ("How it ends") in my youtube page, between my favorites (I still have no idea how it got there), I found the words I needed. Therefore, this chapter and several of the following, have lyrics by them and some of my favorite groups.

…

So, back to business: **this fict combines the story seen so far in the TV show with some** **mayor plot events seen on the comics**, so if you haven't read the comics don't say I didn't warn you.

Everybody alright with that? Ok, I'll go on.

So, this story begins at the end of the prison cycle, although with only the characters seen on the TV show, except for **Billy**, Hershel's son. What I mean is I'm putting him in as if he had been there all along (he doesn't last long, though). The new characters that show up after they establish in the prison are basically the same

-I didn't include the **inmates**, because I honestly didn't know what to do with them. I'm not including **Tyreese**, neither; I don't have any use for him and I simply don't like him. I've heard that Kirman and Co. are going to put him in the TV show, but I've got no idea how they're going to do it. So, I choose to give most of his development to T-Dog who (so far) has managed to stay out the craziness that's getting the best of everyone else in the group; partially because I know the craziness will catch up with him at some point and partially because I have the feeling he won't come out alive from the prison.

-Rick didn't lost his right hand (I never liked that), although he got it broken.

-Carol's development wasn't exactly as in the comic, but I'll get to that eventually.

I think that's it.

**Beta Reader:** My good **D****octorkaitlyn.** Thank you sooooo very much!

**Disclamer:** I don't own the Walking Dead (TV show nor comic), and neither do I own the songs.

**Warnings**: Character death, violence, mentions of rape (Non-Con), a little gore and swearing (as expected after seeing the show and reading the comic). Slash.

**Spoilers**: TV show up until 02x13. Comic up until the end of "Made To Suffer" (Issue 48), and this and next chapters will include spoilers from "Here We Remain" (Issues 49 to 54).

* * *

**Prologue: Made to Suffer**

_(About what happened during the time Rick's group lived in the prison)_

Rick's group had found the prison a few days after they left the farm, and they established themselves in it. It wasn't an easy life to live, and they'd lost Carol who had been bitten by a lurking walker. Rick figured the only way to save her was to cut off her leg before the infection spread, but she didn't make it.

Lori had had her baby in there, a little girl that they named Sophia like Carl had wanted. They had shelter, many fences to keep the undead out, and as much food as they would need for a couple of years.

But one day, when Lori was still pregnant, they'd seen a helicopter going down nearby the prison and Rick, Michonne and Glenn ended up in Woodbury and met the Governor.

The Governor was a sadistic, psychopathic leader of the survivors from Woodbury, a town not too far away from the prison. He held them as prisoners, wanting to know where their prison was. He'd raped and beat up Michonne. He'd broken every finger in Rick's hand. Then, after long days, he sent one of his men to pretend to rescue Rick and his friends just to see where the prison was. Rick caught the man running back to Woodbury and killed him in cold blood. He didn't regret it.

Michonne, though, took her revenge in the Governor before leaving Woodbury. She tortured him and left him for dead, but he didn't die and plotted his revenge. Almost two months later, when Rick's group was starting to think they were safe, the Governor led his people to the prison, riding a tank and several big trucks.

Rick's group had been outnumbered, but they had prepared for this, and managed to repel their attack. When the Woodbury survivors pulled back, Michonne decided to attack them while they were planning their next move. T-Dog, her boyfriend, went with her, although he considered it to be a bad idea. They managed to kill three people, but T-Dog was captured.

Andrea, Daryl and Maggie, on the other hand, saw this as a chance to run away. Like they should have done in Hershel's farm, they said. They'd survived this wave, although Rick had gotten shot in the stomach and was lying unconscious in the infirmary, but no one knew if they could survive the next. They had a strong position, but the Governor had more people, more guns and a fucking _tank_.

So they drove away, Andrea, Daryl, Beth, Glenn and Maggie. The others decided to stay.

The next day, the Governor's people attacked again. They killed T-Dog in front of Rick and the others to get them to surrender, but they refused. Rick's group didn't have Andrea, who was a terrific sniper, and all of the others, but they fought the best they could. Then, Andrea showed up out of the blue and tried to take out the Governor without success, and was forced to run away.

Her distraction, though, was useful for Rick's people to gain the upper hand. And, as the Governor noticed they were being slaughtered, he ordered the tank to drive over the prison's fence.

In that moment, it was all lost. There wasn't much hope left before, anyway, with most of the group already gone, but there were some foolish hopes. Now, there was none at all. Rick knew this immediately and felt the crushing guilt of getting the people that stood by him killed.

* * *

**Notes:**

I hope this summary of what happened during the time the group lived in the prison can be understood. If there's anything you didn't quite get, I'll try to clarify t. As I said, this follows roughly the same events as in the comic.

I'll explore Carol's and T-Dog's deaths further on. It can't be left so simple as that, I know.

I'm not sure why I'm keeping Beth alive, 'cause I suspect she won't last long in the show. But if she did survive, then I've got the feeling she could turn up to be an interesting character.


	2. Chapter 1: How It Ends

**Beta Reader:** My good **Doctorkaitlyn.**

**Warnings:** In this chapter, mostly violence and swearing.

**Disclamer:** I don't own the Walking Dead (TV show nor comic), and neither do I own the songs.

* * *

**Chapter 1: How It Ends.**

_And in your heart,  
You know it to be true,  
You know what you gotta do.  
They all depend on you.  
And you already know.  
Yeah, you already know how this will end._

_There is no escape,  
From the slave-catchers' songs.  
For all of the loved ones gone.  
Forever's not so long._

_And in your soul,  
They poked a million holes.  
But you never let them show.  
C'mon it's time to go._

_(DeVotchKa – How It Ends)_

–––

_One by one her senses die,  
The memories fade  
And leave her eyes  
Still seeing worlds that never were,  
And one by one the bright birds leave her._

_The words all left me  
Lifeless,  
Hoping,  
Breathing like the drowning man._

(The Cure – The Drowning Man)

–––

They have to get out of the prison. _Now_. They make a desperate run for it, and during it Rick sees Billy getting shot and Hershel falling next to his son, and he keeps running. He sees Alice getting killed while trying to cover them, and keeps running. And he sees his wife and daughter being torn apart by shotgun fire, and keeps on running. For Carl's sake.

He pushes his son through the hole in the fence and in between the vehicles and towards the nearby hills. His head is spinning and he can't hear much more than a constant buzz – though somewhere that seems very far away he knows the gunshots have stopped and that Carl is calling for him.

Rick can't think of that right now. He's panting, still sprinting, and feels so lightheaded he's sure he's going to simply collapse on the ground any second. He keeps pushing himself, though, but he trips over something and his knees give in. Rick almost doesn't manage to pull his arms up in time to avoid falling face down and maybe breaking his nose onto the hard ground.

"Dad?" Carl shrieks almost hysterically. He runs back towards his father and tries to pull him up. "Dad? You ok? Get up! C'mon, get up, _please_! "

Rick tries to speak, but all that comes out is a sob. He can still see Lori's face and hear Lori's last scream and little Sophia's wailing. Rick can't breath for a moment and coughs with his face buried in the dust, unable to stop himself.

Then he hears a car coming their way and somehow finds the strength to pull himself up and fumble for his gun. A pick-up stops by them throwing dust and rocks everywhere around them.

"Rick! You ok?" Somebody yells and jumps out of the driver's side. The person runs to them, but stops dead as soon as he sees the gun Rick is barely holding up. "Hey, put that thing down, will ya? It's me!" The man snarls.

"Daryl?" Rick babbles, way too dizzy to be surprised. His hand is shaking, but he doesn't put the revolver down. He tries to focus his eyes and after a moment he can recognize the man crouching next to him with a pissed off look in his face.

"Yeah, me. And I think this is the fifth time you put that thing on my face." Daryl growls and takes the gun from Rick's hand quickly, but not carelessly – guns have that tendency to go off when one is careless. "Now get up, we have to get the hell outta here!"

Rick tries to stand up without any success. Daryl mumbles something under his breath and puts one of Rick's arms over his shoulders and practically lifts the deputy in the air before throwing him unceremoniously on the passenger seat.

"Carl, get in, _now_!" Dixon barks at the kid before running to the driver's side.

Rick hears the doors being slammed shut before the pick-up jump starts while Daryl drives it out of the open field and towards the road.

"Get down!" Daryl shouts and pushes Rick down when a bullet hits the driver's side mirror. More gunfire hits the vehicle and glass flies everywhere around them.

Rick doesn't remember much after that. He has the vague memory of being carried out of the pick-up and fighting whoever held him.

"Hey, stop that, damn it! It's me!" Daryl says.

–––

Rick wakes up in the dark. His throat is dry, he feels as if he was on fire (Rick figures he has a running fever) and his abdomen hurts like hell. He tries to move without success. He tries to speak up, but all that comes out is an unintelligible croak.

"Dad?" Carl's voice calls from somewhere near him. "Dad?"

Rick tries to speak again, but he can only groan.

There is a metallic click. Rick tries to turn his head, which is almost too much effort for him right now, but he manages to do it. When he can focus he realizes his son is pointing his gun at him.

Carl is shaking.

"You dead too?" The boy asks, voice cracking.

"C-C-Carl." Rick says. Barely.

"Dad!" Carl cries out, now sounding relieved enough to cry. Never the less, he hasn't put the gun down just yet; he's not completely sure his father is alive.

Sadly enough, it is a good thing that he does that.

"C-Carl. Thirsty. 'M sick." Rick slurs.

Carl finally puts the pistol down.

"What do I do?" He asks in such a small, confused voice it would have made Rick cry if he had the strength for it.

"Water."

There is a bottle pressed against his lips. Some of the liquid spills across Rick's face and neck, but he feels so bad already he barely notices. When he's had enough he nods, and Carl steps back.

It is only then that Rick fully realizes they're inside a house and he's lying on a bed.

"Where's Daryl?" He asks.

Then, for just a second, he thinks maybe he imagined it all, dreamt of being rescued. It just doesn't feel real. But how else could they've gotten inside a house?

"Hunting." Carl replies.

"How long?"

"Don't know." Carl shrugs. "He went out before sunset."

"Did he say how long would he stay outside?"

"Not long."

Rick nods, and it turns out to be a bad idea because his head starts spinning again.

"Carl, I need pills. Antibiotics." He says, closing his eyes. It doesn't help, but neither does looking at the dancing shadows on the ceiling caused by the candle light in the room.

"I'll go see if I can find anything."

Carls leaves the room taking the candle with him. Rick can hear him walking around the next room. He closes his eyes again and wishes he could sleep so he didn't have to feel this bad; but then he thinks of what his dreams would be like, and suddenly he's not so sure anymore.

After a few minutes there is a noise coming from somewhere downstairs – Rick can only guess he's currently in the second floor by the looks of it. Rick's heart starts pounding and he immediately fears some band of survivors could be around. Right now, and especially after what just happened that day, he sure as hell is more afraid of the living than from the dead.

He pulls himself up with a grimace. His head has finally stopped spinning, for a while, at least.

"Carl!" He calls out in a hushed voice.

There isn't any answer, which doesn't put him at ease, but it's good in a way: Carl is being careful too.

After what seems like hours he hears slow steps going towards his room.

"Daryl?" Carl asks quietly.

More steps can be heard from the first floor, but they're not hurried and it's only one person.

"Yeah? You ok? Yer dad awake?" Comes the reply of the redneck.

Rick sighs in relief.

"Yeah, he's awake. He's sick."

Daryl comes upstairs.

"How sick?"

"A lot. He's burning up." Carl states. He doesn't sound too worried, though.

The door opens and Daryl comes in, with a candle in hand. He still carries his crossbow over his shoulder and a bundle of squirrels hanging from his belt.

"Rick, you awake?" Daryl asks, while stepping closer carefully. He sounds kind of worried, and that seems so out of character (especially from him looking like _that_ – in full hunter-mode, crossbow and squirrels and all) that Rick smiles a little.

"Yeah. Good hunt?"

Daryl shrugs and puts the crossbow down. "Not so much. But we got somethin' to eat tonight. Think the stove still works."

Rick smirks. He doesn't care about hot meals right now, he isn't hungry at all and it feels as though he is never going to be hungry again; but Daryl seems to be glad about it, and so would Carl.

"Thanks for getting us outta there." Rick tells the other man.

Daryl fidgets awkwardly as Rick already figured he would.

"Don't mention it." Daryl mutters evasively.

"Got any of Merle's antibiotics left?"

Dixon shakes his head. "Last time I saw any of that was when you got shot."

Rick nods. "I've a fever. Could ya look around and see if you find anything?"

"Sure. Be right back." Daryl immediately agrees and leaves the room. He returns shortly after with a couple of bottles in hand.

"Ain't no antibiotics, but got somethin' for your fever." He hands Rick the pills. "I think."

Rick tries to read the labels, but he can't really focus on them.

"It's Tylenol." Daryl supplies before Rick got to ask.

"I think that'll do it too." The deputy agrees, thankful.

"I saw a drugstore down the road. Could make a run there." Daryl informs, crossing his arms.

"What… like, now?" Rick asks stunned, staring at Dixon.

"Yeah, sure. Yer feelin' like shit… right?" Daryl replies. His usual arrogant certainty is lost, though, when he adds the question at the end.

Rick frowns, puzzled, but shakes his head.

"Not worth the risk."

"I _can_ do it." Daryl states plainly, arrogance back in him. Still, Rick can't help but be reminded of a boy trying to prove himself.

"I know. But it's not worth it. You're the one keeping us safe. I can wait 'til morning." Rick assures him. He tries to open the bottles of pills, but the childproof caps prove to be a little too much for him at the time. "This should do it for now. Damn!"

Daryl snorts at him and rips the bottles away from Rick.

"Gimme that, butter fingers." He mocks. He opens one and puts two pills in Rick's hand. "That enough?"

"I guess." Rick shrugs and puts the pills in his mouth, but can't swallow them. "Gimme the water, will ya?"

Daryl did as he was told. Then, after a second of hesitation, he awkwardly puts his right hand on Rick's forehead. It is a big, calloused hand, and it feels almost as strange to Rick as it seems for Daryl to do something like that.

Rick stares at the redneck, surprised and confused. It's easy to tell that taking care of people isn't something Daryl Dixon usually does – probably _never_ does – yet, he's doing it right now. Or trying to, anyway.

"Yeah, yer feelin' kinda hot." Daryl nods, stepping back.

"Thank you." Rick blurts out before he can stop himself. It's just that it was so weird, and Daryl looks so uncomfortable, he can't help but mess with the man.

Daryl doesn't get it right away, but when he does a deeply embarrassed look appears on his face and he turns bright red.

Rick chuckles and swiftly apologizes. "Sorry, bad joke."

"You damn right it is." Daryl snaps, backing off towards the door, his accent more evident due to his anger. He picks up his crossbow. "Gonna try and make somethin' to eat."

"Thanks, Daryl." Rick says quickly, before the redneck goes out of the room. "I owe you my life, and my son's life."

"Whatever." Daryl barks before practically slamming the door shut.

Oh, hell. Rick sighs and rolls his eyes with exhaustion. That could have gone better. Anyway, Daryl would come around. Eventually.

–––

Rick's fever is breaking down and he is dozing off. A part of him is kind of amazed that he can actually be drifting into sleep after all that happened, after Lori and Sophia… Yet, it's like every time his thoughts get to that point, a giant wall comes up in his head and blocks them out. And, although it feels wrong to be avoiding it, he's mostly relieved about it; in the condition he's in, he couldn't take it to start remembering all. Still, Rick knows that the shock is temporary, that he _will_ have to go thought it – sooner rather than later if he's right. He's rather scared of what his dreams are going to be like tonight, after the numbness stops and his mind starts throwing shit at him.

He's dozing off, never the less, when he hears steps coming upstairs.

"Carl!" Daryl calls.

"Yeah?" Carl answers, voice coming from the next room.

"Here."

"What's that?" The boy asks, distrustfully.

"Squirrel stew. Don't like it, don't eat." Comes the harsh reply from Daryl before he walks towards Rick's room.

"… Thanks, Daryl." Carl says, a little begrudgingly.

The redneck doesn't answer. He opens the door from Rick's room and stands by the bottom of the bed.

"Ya awake?" Daryl asks, still sounding pretty pissed.

"Yeah. You said stew?" Rick tries to smile to defuse the tension and sits up.

"Yep." Daryl nods and hands him maybe too abruptly a bowl full of something hot and brown; but it smells good.

"Thanks."

Daryl grunts something, noncommittally.

"What's Carl doing?" Rick asks.

"Don't know. Reading, I think."

"Really?"

Rick is surprised, but it's a tired kind of surprise, no shock, no excitement. It's as if his feeling had lost almost all intensity. He guesses it's the numbness and the shock again.

Daryl nods again and starts backing off.

"Where are you goin' now?" Rick asks.

"Eat. And keep watch." Daryl replies sharply.

Rick stares at him and wonders how long it was since Daryl had gotten any sleep.

"You should sleep."

"You my _mother_ now?"

Rick sighs. He's exhausted and Daryl's being so… Daryl. Rick just doesn't have the strength to deal with it right now. In all honesty, he would be happy not to have to deal with his attitude ever again.

"You should. No point in you doing all the heavy lifting." He states, cocking an eyebrow just slightly and wonders if Daryl remembers saying the same thing to him once, so long ago.

Daryl glares, but Rick is never surprised by that – not after the first couple of days around the redneck. He will be surprised the day that Daryl doesn't get angry at something. Dixon opens his mouth to say something (very probably something like "mind yer own fuckin' business", if Rick were to guess), but the deputy beats him to it.

"Tell Carl to keep watch. Just for a while, at least. If anything comes in, we should hear it, anyway."

Daryl scowls, but doesn't argue, which is always an improvement.

"Fine." He agrees finally.

"Thank you. For everything." Rick says.

"Stop that." Daryl snaps and leaves the room.

–––

Daryl sits at the top of the stairs with his own bowl of squirrel stew and lays his crossbow at his feet. He eats fast, with a deep frown set on his face.

Damn Rick! Damn fucking, stupid man! And stupid Daryl for feeling what he feels; so many things he can't start telling them apart. He usually wouldn't bother to tell them apart, but right now he doesn't have anything else to do, no way to distract himself. And this enormous chaos in his head is really annoying him.

Other people's gratitude had never been easy for him to handle; that's not new. The teasing, on the other hand, would have ended with Rick beaten black and blue by Daryl in some other situation. Yet, truth is, this is Rick… and for some reason, Daryl knows he can take a lot from Rick. It annoys him almost as much as it can't be helped (deep down, he also likes it and that scares him). Then again, in some other scenarios, the teasing would've ended up in something very different from a beating.

Daryl growls to himself. This isn't the time or place to entertain those ideas. Not again. Not ever.

Though, with Lori out of the picture, maybe…

He mumbles a frustrated groan. No, no. It is stupid, not-going-to-happen wishful thinking. The guy is surely going to turn into a mournful widower for all he knows.

Daryl stands up and goes downstairs, simply because he can't just stay still much longer. He peeks out of every window, half wishing for a herd to show up, all hell to break loose. The he could stop thinking and stop feeling so goddamn guilty – among so many other things. He can manage the other stuff; the guilt, on the other hand, is driving him crazy.

Daryl starts quietly speaking to himself, as he does when he's alone.

"…Wasn't anything else I could do! Stupid bitch…"

Stupid bitch Lori and her self-righteousness and her fucking pride. When Andrea, Glenn and himself decided it wasn't possible to keep on defending the prison and that they should try to run away while they could (like they should have done in the farm), Lori had stood there on her high horse and lectured them for taking the easy way out instead of trying to fight for the life they'd made for themselves, the life _her husband_ had made possible.

As soon as she began, Daryl had had to suppress his urge to slap her. He had actually hit a woman before (he had been drunk and she had been one of Merle's mouthy bitches) and wasn't exactly proud of it, but he hadn't been so close to slapping a woman ever since that time.

When she was done, he had actually tried to walk past her and into the infirmary where Rick laid still unconscious after being shot in the abdomen.

"Where are you _going_?" Lori had screeched right into his left ear.

"To get Rick. If ya don't wanna leave, _fine_! See if I care. But we have to get 'im somewhere safe." Daryl growled.

"No, you're not just _taking_ him anywhere! We can't move him, he's hurt!"

"Yeah, well, he's gonna get _killed_ as soon as they get in here! They'll just going to put a bullet in his head, won't care if he's hurt or not!"

"No! We can't move him. And he would _never_ just run away like that."

"Yer gonna stay here _alone_! Ya can't hold this place on yer own!" Daryl tried to get past her again, but Lori grabbed his arm and hit him across the chest. "If ya wanna get killed, fine, yer decision! But I ain't letting _him_ get killed just 'cause yer a coward, little bitch!"

Lori slapped him hard. He was just about to shove her away to get Rick when Andrea got in the middle.

"This is pointless. Daryl, we have to go _now_!" She told him dryly.

"Can't just leave 'im here!" He replied between clenched teeth.

"We don't have time to argue. And besides, I'm pretty sure he'd want to stay."

"Not with three people to hold up the place!" Daryl shouted, frustrated.

"Daryl, we're going _right now_, you comin' or stayin'?" Andrea said, pressing her hand into his chest to get him away from the deputy's wife.

Daryl moved away from her and glared and Lori, and she glared right back. They'd never liked each other much (especially during the last few months) but right then, they really hated each other for the first time. Daryl couldn't help but imagine himself snapping her neck and taking Rick away forcefully.

But the deputy would never forgive him, nor would the others let him go with them either.

"Yer killing yerself, ya know? And yer _kids_, and yer _husband_." Daryl spat with all the contempt and venom he could muster.

So he'd just turned away, filled with rot hot rage, and left Rick there to die.

On the way out he'd last seen Billy, who started to walk with him.

"So, you goin' away?" The boy had asked him.

"Yeah." Daryl answered, voice filled with irony. "You?"

"My dad's stayin', so…"

"Well good luck with that." Daryl interrupted. "Yer all gonna die here, goddamn stupid people!"

Billy stopped and stared at him with wide eyes as Daryl walked away and never looked back.

But as soon as they'd lost sight of the prison, the gut clenching guilt had fallen over him and Daryl stopped his pick up shortly after. He hit the steering wheel and yelled in frustration. The others stopped when they noticed he'd stayed behind and Andrea stepped out of her car and came to him.

"Everything ok?" She asked.

"Can't just leave 'em there. They're all gonna fuckin' die!" He said bitterly.

Andrea frowned.

"We can't do anything for them now. They made their choice." She stated in her usual matter-of-factly, unforgiving way.

Daryl chewed on his lips, thinking.

"When it's over they're gonna try and make a run outta there." He reasoned. "We could help them get a shot to make it."

"Why do you _care_ about them?" Andrea asked resentfully.

"Why don't _you_?" Daryl asked back, mostly because he didn't have a good answer for her.

"I do, but if they decided to die…"

"They didn't! _Rick_ didn't, damn it!" Daryl snapped before he could stop himself. "They're stupid, but they're gonna need a chance to get the hell outta there before they all get killed!"

She eyed him, and Daryl was almost certain something clicked inside her head.

"You're worried about _Rick_?" She asked him, lowering her voice.

"He didn't get a vote. Won't be good to fight." Daryl stammered. "I wouldn't like to be left behind like that."

Andrea arched an eyebrow. She didn't buy it, but didn't push it either.

"You wouldn't." Andrea assured him. There was a short pause. "So, what's your plan?"

–––

So both of them had gotten back the next morning. Andrea had stood on the roof of an old van they'd found on the road and tried to shoot the Governor, but failing by inches (the same way she hadn't gotten to kill him, Daryl thought). The Woodbury people tried to chase her and crashed a car against the van, like Daryl and Andrea had figured they would and she jumped off the vehicle before running to the woods. She would get to her car a little further away and out of sight; Daryl would cover for her.

Thing is, right after that, the Governor drove the tank over the prisons fence and it all went to hell. Daryl stuck around, just to see, just to make sure. When he saw the people he had lived with trying to escape and being killed, his tightened his grip on the steering wheel and clenched his teeth. He would've liked to get in there and do something, but if he did he was going to die as well.

After the few first seconds he wished for nothing more than just run away, forget he was ever there. It was the first time he felt so bad since he'd lost Merle. Somewhere, he'd had the stupid but stubborn hope that Rick would make it. And he regretted his goodbye to Billy, though he had never let himself care about the kid. Still, the boy deserved better than to die that way.

Anyway, if the world was fair and everybody got what they deserved, Daryl would sure as hell not be hanging around an abandoned prison in the middle of a zombie apocalypse, hoping for a lot of stupid, useless people to come out of the death trap they'd gotten themselves into.

He clamped down the feelings, tightening his chest the best he could and started the pick-up to turn around and leave. There was nothing for him to do there anymore.

"Damn you, Rick." He mumbled. His eyes had started itching, vision turning a little foggy so he blinked rapidly. "Damn you to hell, you son of a bitch. And yer fuckin', stupid wife too."

As he turned his vehicle towards the road he caught sight of something moving. He stopped and watched intently at the figure trying to make out exactly who was it, and after a moment he'd recognized Rick looking as if he was going to drop dead any second, but running anyway. A very pale looking Carl was running by him, but no one else.

He'd sighed deeply with relief (fuck, since when did he _sigh_? Was he turning into such a pussy?) feeling as if an enormous weight had been lifted. He actually smiled a little, although it hurt and his sight got all foggy once again. He rubbed his eyes furiously (God knew he wouldn't allow anyone to see him like that) and hit the steering wheel to get a grip.

When he started driving towards them, Rick fell down and Daryl thought for a moment he'd gotten shot or maybe passed out. So he sped up, cursing the deputy under his breath.

And now, right now, Rick is acting like nothing happened; as if his wife and daughter (well, very probably _Shane's_ daughter, technically) hadn't died, as if Daryl and the others hadn't just left them all behind in the first place.

"Yeah, for now." Daryl mutters, going around the kitchen one more time.

He's not stupid, he knows the mourning and the accusations will come later.

* * *

_Next chapter will be up next week._

Reviews are appreciated C:


	3. Chapter 2: If Only Tonight We Could Slee

**Beta Reader:** My good Doctorkaitlyn.

**Warnings:** In this chapter, mostly just swearing.

**Disclamer:** I don't own the Walking Dead (TV show nor comic), and neither do I own the songs.

* * *

**Chapter 2: If Only Tonight We Could Sleep**

_And when she died I couldn't cry  
the pride within my soul.  
You left me incomplete  
memories now unfold._

_Believe the word  
I will unlock my door  
and pass the cemetery gates_

_(Pantera – Cemetery Gates)_

–––

_If only tonight we could sleep  
in a bed made of flowers.  
If only tonight we could fall  
in a deathless spell._

_If only tonight we could slide  
into deep black water.  
And breathe.  
And breathe._

_(The Cure – If Only Tonight We Could Sleep)_

–––

Rick's dreams that night are filled with clawing walkers, gunshots and Lori's voice calling desperately for him. He sleeps unevenly. At some point when he's awake he tries to find the pills for his fever he left on the nightstand, but the bedroom is pitch dark and he ends up throwing them to the floor by mistake. So he lays down again, defeated.

There isn't any noise around the house – silence is such a big part of this post-apocalyptic world they live in.

Rick's not sure when he starts to cry, but it rapidly builds up into a desperate kind of crying with him choking and sobbing all over the place like he hasn't done in so many years. He cries for Lori and their Sophia, for Hershel and Billy, for Alice and Dale and the other Sophia, and Carol and so many people that have died under his watch and because of him. He even cries for his estranged brother Jeff, and Shane, and Lori's family, and all the other people he once knew and hasn't even had the time to think about. He cries about everything in this fucked up, silent world. He cries for Carl, who now has no mother, nor little sister, only a father who's too broken to even face his son and who might die at any time. Rick cries for himself, because he's so filled with guilt and rage and bitterness, but mostly because he's alone; so terribly, utterly alone.

He isn't sure when he fell asleep again either. Fortunately, at least, he doesn't remember any more dreams for that night.

"Hey, wake up."

Daryl is shaking him by the shoulder. Rick opens his eyes and realizes in a haze that he (still) feels like crap.

"Got ya these." Daryl says, shaking a bottle of pills in front of his nose before putting them on Rick's hand.

"Thanks. What time is it?" Rick mumbles while sitting up and rubbing his eyes. His abdomen still hurts and his fever is back, though not in full force as it was yesterday.

"Don't know. Dawn was like two hours ago." Daryl answers while handing him the bottle of water. Rick notices he looks tired and absentminded.

"Everything alright?"

"What'd ya mean?" Daryl inquires defensively.

Rick rolls his eyes and shrugs.

"Don't know. You look tired, I guess. Got any sleep?"

"Would ya mind yer own business?" Daryl barks.

"Hey, what tha hell? I was just asking." Rick snaps.

It's not common for him to do that, to reply like that at people unless he's really at the end of his patience – which seems to happen a lot more with the redneck in front of him than with anyone else – but he's currently feeling like shit and is definitively sick of the other man's fucking attitude.

As always, when Rick lashes out at him Daryl immediately backs off. It's not something evident at first sight, for Daryl keeps on talking harshly, but it's definitely there –Rick only got to notice it when they were already living in the prison– and it surprises him still, somehow. He sure as hell doesn't know why it happens, but in moments like these, he's happy for it.

"'M fine. Stop askin' how I'm." Daryl grumbles, all his feistiness lost.

"Fine." Rick rolls his eyes again. "I won't ask ever again."

Daryl looks out through the window and chews on his lip. Crap, he fucked up again; it's just that he's never been comfortable with people asking him how's he doing or what's he done. Especially when he's half expecting for said people to start blaming him for the death of his wife and daughter any second.

"So… how 're you? Fever?" Daryl asks in an obviously awkward way.

Rick cocks an eyebrow and thinks this is a major irony: Daryl asking him how's he doing after almost chewing his head off for asking the same thing. He doesn't have the energy to start a fight, so he simply answers, if only a little too quick:

"Fine."

"I told Carl to find something for you to eat in the stuff you brought." Daryl comments.

There is a small pause.

"How's he?" Rick asks, gravely. He's not sure he wants to know the answer to that, but he has to ask.

Daryl blinks.

"Fine, I guess." He replies, a bit confused.

Rick almost snorts. Yeah, well, what else could he have expected for Daryl to say, honestly? Rick rubs his eyes and thinks that he's barely seen his son since they ran away from the prison. That can't be good. Surely Carl's blaming him for Lori's and Sophia's death. And, honestly, Rick can only agree with that.

–––

Carl takes him some food a while later. He doesn't seem angry at Rick or too sad either. As far as Rick can tell, he's keeping what happened the day before bottled up, detached. "Compartmentalizing" is the word for it, he believes.

"So… you ok?" He dares to ask.

Carl looks at him, his face giving away nothing beyond a mild surprise.

"Yeah." He sighs. "I found some books in the next room, they're fun."

"I thought you didn't like to read." Rick comments.

"I didn't before. Now… I do." Carl shrugs.

"Ok."

"Can I go back to reading?" The boy asks.

Rick frowns. He's a bit sad, but he understands his son would rather go back to his books; they're certainly more fun and safer than the world out there.

"Sure."

Carl is almost out of the room, with one hand on the doorknob, when he turns around.

"Do you need anything, Dad?"

Rick feels a rush of pain. His thirteen year old son is the one who has to take care of him, and he doesn't even know how to do it. That's just… heartbreaking.

"No, son, I'm fine. Thank you." Rick assures him, trying to smile. "Go on."

Carl nods and leaves.

Rick wipes out a couple of tears and lies down. He's way too tired to do anything but sleep.

–––

Daryl wakes him up at some point during the afternoon and gives him a bowl.

"More squirrel stew?" Rick asks.

"It has some rabbit too." Daryl answers, narrowing his eyes in that way that means that he's amused, his substitute for a smile or something.

"Went hunting then?"

"Yep. Got a lot of fat rabbits this time." He says, sounding happy.

How he does that (be _happy_, at _this_ moment, in _these_ circumstances) Rick has no clue.

"Is that… good?"

"Hell, yeah! Rabbits are the best, I tell ya. Far better than squirrels." Daryl exclaims, and he's almost _laughing_ for all Rick can tell. "Saw a real nice deer too, but I need help to smoke it or it'll be a waste."

Rick nods absentmindedly. The stew isn't exactly the best meal he's ever had, but in the circumstances being he's lucky to have warm food, and someone who can actually hunt and cook what he hunts.

"Hey…" He says suddenly. Daryl, who was turning to leave, stops. "Would you teach Carl to hunt?"

Daryl looks at him with a cautious expression, and finally asks:

"Carl? Why?"

"'Cause… 'cause he should know that. In case – you know – he needed to do it. I could die any day; he might as well be able to survive on his own." Rick answers looking at his bowl.

Daryl frowns and crosses his arms. He doesn't like the way Rick seems to simply have given up on all hope.

"Ok." He agrees. "And I'll teach ya too when ya get outta bed. I can't be the only one who knows how to get us some food 'round here." He adds, daring Rick to contradict him.

Rick arches an eyebrow, Daryl being so cheerful and joking seems so very strange – always does, but especially after all of his lashing out that very morning. But it feels good somehow, as if things weren't so bad after all, as if things could go back to be the way they were.

It's stupid to believe it, but Rick is kind of a sucker that way.

"Show off." Rick scoffs. "Ok, I'll try to learn, but don't expect too much from me; no way I can track the way you do."

"Kiss ass." Daryl snorts.

Rick smiles a little.

"I'm serious. And, anyway, I'm depending on you to get us food, might as well get on your good side, right?"

Daryl narrows his eyes again and smiles tightly. He fidgets a little.

"Yeah, keep it up. See where it gets ya." He dares, lifting his chin up.

"It got me stew. And antibiotics." Rick reminds him waving the plate.

Daryl wrinkles his nose.

"Yeah, well… it ends there." He declares. The look in his eyes, though, doesn't make it anywhere near believable.

–––

Rick can't sleep after he's done eating. He doesn't want to keep having nightmares and, honestly, he doesn't want to be alone right now. He can't stop replaying all in his head, how it all went to hell, and it's driving him crazy.

The only thing that helps – if only a little – is to find something to do or someone to talk to.

He knows he'll have to deal with it, he knows he'll have to relive it a thousand more times before he can really forget about it even if only for a little while. And a lot more before he can learn to live with it. And even more before he stops dreaming of it.

But right now, he can't do it.

Rick gets up, taking a blanket with him and goes into the next room, which probably belonged to a boy, maybe an adolescent from the looks of it – posters of cars, motorcycles and rock bands cover the walls – and finds his son sprawled on a bed, reading. And Rick would like to talk to him, but Carl seems so carried away, and so happy because of it, that the deputy can't bring himself to even open his mouth to disturb him.

The other room, a little further away from the stairs has two beds and belonged to a couple of girls – there are a couple of white and pink throw pillows, some stuffed animals and dolls lying forgotten on the floor, covered in dust. Daryl seems to be using the bed furthest away from the door.

Rick thinks he should feel bad about it, even just a little – for the people that lived here, the girls, invading their privacy like this –, but it seems like he's done feeling sorry for himself, for people and for this world.

Downstairs the place isn't really a mess so the owners must have fled in a hurry when it all started. They probably tried to get to Atlanta, Rick muses distantly.

He figures that Daryl was the one who blocked the front door and windows.

He finds said man sitting in the kitchen table, working with some twigs probably to replace his many lost bolts. Daryl seems surprised to see him, but doesn't say anything other than just:

"You up?"

"Yeah. Was bored out of my mind." Rick answers sitting down across from Daryl and wrapping himself tighter with his blanket.

"Tell me 'bout it." Daryl agrees. "Nothin' to do 'round here but hunt and fetch ya yer pills."

"I can send you for more, if you want." Rick offers smiling. Daryl laughs a little. "Making more bolts?"

"Yeah, was almost out."

Daryl seems relaxed right now, and it puzzles Rick as much as pretty much everything concerning the redneck. Even after all this time, after working and even fighting by him, there's a lot Rick doesn't know or even understand from Daryl. His moods seem kind of erratic at times – though the quick anger is almost always there. For someone who at first sight seems so… plain, he sure has many facets. It feels as if there's a big piece of the puzzle he's missing. But men like Daryl are never too keen on talking about themselves – let alone _explaining_.

Anyway, Rick is glad (or something of that sort) that Daryl's happy and not snapping and growling at him. Again.

"Did you… by any chance know what happened to Michonne?" Rick asks after a long pause.

Daryl stops for a second and looks at him. The he returns his attention to the twig in hand.

"Nope. Not after… you got shot, I think"

"She should've killed the Governor in Woodbury." Rick mutters almost to himself. A tiny part of him can't believe he just said that, but that part is growing smaller every passing day. "Think she's ok?"

"Yeah." Daryl nods without any hesitation what so ever. "She's a tough one, made it on her own for months before she found us."

"Yeah, I guess." Rick admits begrudgingly. "But you're not even… worried?"

Daryl stares at him frowning, trying to get what exactly he means by that.

"No. Said she's tough, she can make it."

"But if she can't find us…"

"Then she don't." Daryl shrugs. "But I think she will."

Rick frowns, but doesn't answer. Daryl, though, already knows what's going through his head, and makes a face before saying:

"It ain't like that with us." It's almost a warning. "She was with T-Dog, remember? He went all jealous and crazy, but it was never _that_ with her." (1)

God knows that subject has brought Daryl enough trouble already. He didn't have any real friends in the group, but he'd made some sort of connection with the black woman who showed up out of nowhere with two shackled walkers, a katana and Andrea. After he forgave her for hitting him in the face with the sword when they first met and he was trying to kill the two walkers. She wouldn't let anyone else do it but herself.

It was long after that (she'd already hooked up with T-Dog) when she asked him about his hunting trips and asked him to teach her to track. He reluctantly put his still wounded pride aside and agreed – and only because she seemed tough enough and she was the first one to seriously ask him for tracking lessons. By the time she first saved his life (or so she claimed, though he was sure he could've managed to get rid of the walker that came up from behind him) they'd become as close friends as two strong, reserved, non-effusive people could get in the circumstances. They respected each other, that was the thing, they were both tough and worthy adversaries if it had come to that. (Daryl knew too well just what Merle would have to say about it, him considering a nigger, and a woman, as something close to his equal. But old Merle wasn't there no more, was he?)

She'd even taught him a little fencing after that. And hell, she was good with it. Maybe not samurai good or ninja good, but close enough for the time being. Daryl wouldn't take anyone else to cover his back in a fight other than her and Rick (and Merle, but that wasn't possible anymore, was it?).

But then T-Dog chose to get all jealous of him, without any reason what so ever. Michonne didn't take his crap even once, and Daryl had to admit that he liked that (even more after being so long with those push overs Lori and Carol).

Anyway, that belonged to the past; T-Dog was dead and Michonne isn't anywhere within sight.

In that moment, Rick asks something that scares the crap out of Daryl.

"And… what about Billy?"

–––

Rick isn't anywhere near sure he can just go and ask Daryl something like that; they aren't _that_ close, and besides, men like them don't go around talking about things like this one. But it pays off if only to see Daryl's face go pale and then all shades of red within just seconds.

"Don't know whatcha mean" The man stutters. He drops his knife and then picks it up quickly.

Rick can't hold an amused smirk.

"I, uh… kindda… sort of, heard you two… once." He admits.

Now, truth goes more like "walked in on you two", but that isn't really necessary, is it?

Daryl's face is almost purple now and Rick has to hide a chuckle with a cough. The redneck is trying real hard to find something to say, but he has no idea what that could be.

"Hey, it's alright… I'm not judging or anything." Rick assures him, feeling a little guilty for making Dixon so uncomfortable. "Just sayin'."

"I… It ain't li'e that, either." Daryl stammers trying to explain. "Had girlfriends too, ya know? 'Fore this."

The word "too" in that phrase, he realizes only too late, it's enough to make his whole claim bogus.

He knows that it's just plain stupid to try and claim his straightness at this point – and especially to the man he's had a crush on for a long time now – but he can't help it. He doesn't know what else to do. God knows he's done it before, try to hold up the obvious lie, even to the men he'd slept with.

He just couldn't be anything else to the world he knew. Maybe he fucked men from time to time, but he remained straight for everybody's concern. Anything else would've cost him everything: home, family, friends, job, even teeth. Maybe -and he'd seen it happen from _way_ too close- even his life.

Rick holds up his hands in a peace gesture.

"Sorry. Wasn't trying to say anything."

Yeah, right. Damage's done and Daryl looks away, feeling humiliated. Neither of them say anything for a long while.

"Merle didn't know." Daryl then admits, so quietly that Rick almost misses it.

"Sure. I can figure out why." The deputy nods.

Daryl's eyes are suddenly boring into his. Oh, surprise, surprise, he touched a nerve there.

"Don't patronize me." He growls.

"Wasn't trying to." Rick answers, unimpressed. "I mean it: I'm not judging, I don't care about it. Really."

Daryl's eyes darken a little, but he doesn't look so enraged anymore.

"He was just a kid feelin' lonely. Nothin' else." He suddenly explains.

Damn it, this is _Rick_! He has to know, he has to understand that he didn't have any feelings for the kid, that he isn't _mourning_.

But, then again, Rick is.

"Sure 'bout that?" The deputy inquires gently.

"Yes, I'm _sure_." Daryl replies sharply. "He knew that too."

Rick just nods and doesn't insist.

–––

Rick wakes up from another nightmare, covered with cold sweat and on the verge of tears. He's got no clue what time it is.

Shuddering, he stands up and takes his blanket with him. He fumbles until he finds the lighter on his night stand and uses it to light up a candle.

Rick's not completely surprised to see Daryl lying on the floor next to the stairs wrapped in his own blanket. He takes a step towards the other man and Daryl wakes up (if he had really been sleeping at all) and takes out a knife from under his pillow.

"It's me." The deputy says.

Daryl blinks and rubs his eyes. He grunts something when he's able to focus on Rick and puts the hunting knife back in its sheath.

"Why you up?" Daryl asks, voice groggy.

"Can't sleep. I thought maybe I could take up on watch."

"I've got it covered."

"You're tired." Rick points out.

"Fuck off." Daryl mumbles, but without any heat. He yawns, which only proves Rick's point. "Don't need ya fussing over me, I told ya. Yer the one who's sick."

"And you're the one who needs to sleep." Rick counters with an impatient edge on his voice. "I can take up on watch. I can't sleep right now. I can't." There's something in his voice that tells Daryl everything he needs to know, something desperate. '_I can't stand it, too many nightmares_'.

So the redneck eyes him for a few seconds and then he shrugs. Rick sighs in relief and he's glad that sometimes Daryl can stop being such a proud, stubborn ass. He's also very grateful the redneck is far from stupid so he gets what's bothering Rick and doesn't ask about it.

Rick sits at the top of the stairs. After a few seconds, to his surprise, Daryl sits next to him and they watch the shadows from the first floor.

"Still have a fever?" Daryl asks a little awkwardly.

Rick appreciates the intention.

"Don't know." He shrugs dismissively. "I feel better."

Rick would've sworn on a pile of Bibles that Daryl would never touch his forehead ever again. He would have been wrong.

Suddenly that big, calloused hand is on his face, and it feels so cold against his hot skin that Rick presses slightly into it.

"I think yer still warm." Daryl mumbles with an implicit warning in his voice. Not that Rick's going to tease him again any day soon.

"I'll be alright by tomorrow." Rick assures him, although he's not sure about it at all.

Daryl's hand goes away and Rick misses it. He presses his face against the cold stairway railing.

"You should go to bed." Rick says, rubbing his neck. But his hands are sickeningly warm too. "Get some sleep."

Daryl doesn't answer. After a few moments, though, there are hesitant cold fingers against Rick's neck. He rests against that hand with an almost inaudible sigh.

He expects Daryl to be even more awkward now, but even though Rick feels he's tense, he doesn't back off or snap at him.

"Your hands always that cold?" The deputy asks only to say something.

"Don't know." Daryl answers with a deep frown.

So Rick shuts up, because nothing he could say right now could make the situation any less weird to any of them. Yet, surprisingly, it isn't really _too_ weird, and Rick doesn't want to think about it too much, because it would only shatter this completely unexpected comfortable moment.

In the end, though, it's Daryl who breaks the silence.

"'M sorry. For what happened." He mutters, sitting half an inch closer and without removing his hand yet.

Rick stiffens a little.

"Me too." It's all he can say.

He doesn't want to talk about this, can't talk about this.

"We… we wanted to take y'all with us, when we left, but…" Daryl murmurs. It's not completely true (_he_ was the one who wanted to take _Rick _away), but it is close enough.

And he can't start trashing Lori just like that, so he tries to figure out how to put it.

"I know." Rick nods. "She… she mentioned something about you trying to kidnap me or something." He says, trying to smile and failing miserably. He can't say his wife's name yet. Not yet.

Daryl lets go of the deputy and fidgets. Lori, that damn stupid woman. They tried to save them, but she just wouldn't let them.

"But you came back." Rick says, as if just realizing it. "Andrea and you. Why?"

Daryl opens his mouth, but can't think of anything to say. He frowns.

"We didn't want to leave y'all just li'e that." He finally answers. "We thought we could give y'all a shot to make it."

Rick only nods, assuming that it had to be Andrea's idea. He thinks about telling Daryl that Carl and he are only alive because of them, and especially because of Daryl, but he's pretty sure the man would punch him in the face if he starts thanking him again. So instead they just sit quietly.

Daryl goes to bed shortly after.

Rick finally goes to bed around dawn. He dreams are again filled of clawing walkers, gunshots and Lori's voice calling desperately for him – they will be for a long time. Only this time there's someone behind him, holding him with an arm thrown across his chest.

Later he can't remember if the Daryl in his dream actually said anything, but at the time he was sure it was him; and his presence was protective, and loving and serene. All the things the real Daryl isn't, Rick thinks when he wakes up. But dreams are like that, aren't they? You just mix things and people all together.

Still, that imagined presence leaves him feeling even more alone.

* * *

_Next chapter will be up next week._

(1) As I said in the prologue, I omitted Tyreese and gave his part to T-Dog. I know Tyreese didn't go into any kind of jealous rage, but it seemed appropriate.

In all honesty, I'm wondering how they're going to play Michonne and Daryl's relationship. There's a lot of potential there.

I think Daryl, especially in the last part, kind of went out of character. In fact scratch that; he went a _whole lot_ out of character (my good Beta Reader doesn't agree with that). Thing is, even though it's hard to picture him taking care of people, as I said last chapter he's _trying_ to do it, real hard. And anyway, sometimes, especially at night, people do some strange things, don't you think? I've seen it. Add to that a whole lot of emotional stress and you got your recipe for odd behavior. I promise you, though, Daryl will be back on his stubborn, blunt, badass self by tomorrow.

If that's a good or a bad thing, I'll let it for you to judge.

Reviews are always appreciated.


	4. Chapter 3: This Place Is Haunted

**Beta Reader: **My good **Doctorkaitlyn**. As always :).

**Warnings: **Swearing, violence, a little gore.

Special thanks to my reviewers, **Dropkicking Bullet Shells** (I recomend her fict 'Dollface', and I hope that she continues 'Forbiden Fruit' as well) and **rickshaneforever**.

Of course I thank all the favorites and alerts too... but I like reviews better :D.

* * *

**Chapter 3: This Place Is Haunted**

_I've been losing sleep,  
I've been keeping myself awake,  
I've been wandering the streets,  
for days and days and days_

_But I believe, I believe_

_There's no salvation for me now,  
no space among the clouds,  
and I've seen that I'm heading down,  
but that's alright.  
That's alright.  
That's alright!  
That's alright!_

(_Florence + The Machine – Lover To Lover_)

–––

_I'll go away 'til there's no-oe around,  
leave your house when the sun goes down  
plant myself at the first bar I see  
pour a thousand drinks and dream.  
You'll be gone for one more day  
I'll watch you slip falling further away from us_

_You were right this place is haunted  
change the locks we are unwanted  
drown me in your heart shaped locket  
store me in your fur coat pocket.  
You'll be gone for one more year  
I'll watch you slip falling further away from here._

_(DeVotchKa – This Place Is Haunted)_

–––

Daryl is bored. Rick is dozing off, and too sick to go and talk to him anyway. Besides, Daryl can't stay still for too long, never has been able to. He can be patient if needed, but just sitting around doing nothing isn't in his nature. So after checking every window and every door to make sure they're properly barricaded, he sticks his head in Rick's bedroom.

"Rick? You awake?"

Rick mumbles something unintelligible. Daryl snorts and walks in. He kicks the bed a little and calls out:

"Hey!" Rick wakes up startled and Daryl smirks at him. "I'm gonna go out and thought maybe I could take yer kid with me and try to teach 'im somethin'."

Rick frowns and rubs his eyes.

"What? Why?"

"Said you wanted to me to teach 'im to hunt, right?" Daryl reminds him.

Rick slowly nods, but keeps on frowning.

"Well… I thought maybe when I was a little better…" The deputy says.

"Think I can't handle it?" Daryl asks arching an eyebrow, slightly offended.

"I didn't say that."

"Then what are ya sayin'?"

Rick doesn't answer.

"Look, I'm bored; he's been readin' for two days straight… I figure I could teach 'im somethin' useful and get 'm outta here for a while." Daryl states. "The windows and doors are blocked; ya can stay here alone for a while. We won't get too far anyway."

Rick raises his eyebrows, mildly surprised by the fact he hadn't even thought about that. Honestly, he couldn't care less if a walker attacked him right now, if it weren't for Carl. He needs a father.

"Sure." He then finally agrees. "But keep an eye on him, will ya?"

"Of course, sheriff." Daryl scoffs before leaving.

–––

Carl is sprawled on the bed, reading. He's been way too quiet these past days – not that he's a talkative kid anyway. Not with Daryl, at least.

"Hey, Carl. I'm goin' out, and yer father said he wants me to teach ya to hunt."

It's not a question. Daryl isn't really good with children and he knows it.

Carl looks at him with obvious mistrust. He's pale and has rings under his eyes. It worries Daryl a little.

"Hunt? Why?"

The redneck would be a little pissed by his attitude if he couldn't relate to it so closely; it's the same one he would've had at his age if his old man would've asked Daryl for something out of the blue.

But Rick isn't anything like his father.

"Said you should know how to do it. And, anyway, I can't be the only who knows how to get us food, right?"

Daryl is usually as subtle as a hammer to the head, and creative lying to a kid isn't even in his repertoire.

"Is he dying too?" Carl asks with a flash of something dark crossing his eyes. Anger.

"Nope. He's gettin' better." Daryl answers plainly. "So, ya comin' or what?"

Carl just stares at him, and Daryl can see the defiance on his face. A part of him starts to regret this. Another part of him kind of wants Carl to snap and get this shit he's keeping bottled up out in the open so Daryl can set the boy right.

But then Carl gives in, if only a little.

"Fine," He grumbles.

Carl stands up and follows Daryl out of the room. Still, the man can feel the eyes boring into the back of his head.

–––

Rick hears them going out. He's wide awake now. He hasn't slept as much as Daryl thinks, yet much more than he would like; the nightmares are always there, though when he sleeps during the day they are both less coherent and more confusing. It leaves him tired but at least not so desperate.

He closes his eyes and remembers the feeling of being held, protected from the walkers that looked way too much like Lori and Shane and maybe even Carl.

He's drifting off again, so he opens his eyes and sits up. After considering it, he goes into Carl's room. It feels a little like prying, and that's stupid.

By the looks of it, Daryl is right and Carl hasn't done much but read in there. There are mostly comic books next to the bed, piled carelessly. Rick supposes it makes sense, to read something about a hero defeating hordes of enemies and always coming out on top. It could give one the hope needed to deal with the thousands of rotting corpses walking around these days.

But the thing about hope is that it usually goes too far, makes a man dream of impossible things and hold on to them; get himself drowned because of them. It's a sad thing to have to tell that to a child (and Rick has already told this to Carl), but these are desperate times. No place for the usual myths of childhood, no place for teenagers' recklessness: death is everywhere, around every corner; be careless, be stupid, and you _will_ die. The false security they lived in before this mayhem (because that was what it was: false) had fallen, and with it all the lies they'd told each other for far too long.

Rick worries for Carl's safety for a moment, but then he reminds himself his son is with Daryl, and though the man may be many things, he is reliable. If he said he would keep an eye on Carl, he would. And also, he knows what Rick would do to him if something happened to his son.

Rick sighs. He's become ruthless, and he's not yet used to it. Not completely. He did live for over thirty years believing in law and justice, and God and moral obligations. Right now, he can only believe in guns and blood.

He wonders how much easier it will be for Carl to forget those false beliefs. He's not sure he likes it.

Rick thinks for a moment. He understands why Carol and Jenner and that woman (he doesn't even remember her name anymore, the one who traveled with them and killed herself along with Jenner) gave up. And so many other people too. It's just too much, to lose everyone you knew and loved, but also everything you believed in. Realizing it was all just a sham.

What would Dale say about this, about what Rick's become at this point? He's not even sure anymore. And he's not sure he would care. He's become what he needs to be, and that is what Darwin was all about, right? _It's evolution, baby_. (1)

Rick smirks. He wonders if somewhere famous musicians and actors and whatnot are still alive. It would sure be funny to run into Clint Eastwood, coming out of nowhere dressed with a _sarape_ and coming to clean out the town (that was Clint Eastwood, right?), or maybe the president, or Mick Jagger, or someone he had once seen on TV.

Well, now that he thinks about it, Michonne kind of did the Clint Eastwood number, didn't she? Rick smiles and thinks she would hate it if he said that to her; maybe if she's alive and they meet again he will tell her.

–––

Carl isn't paying attention and Daryl is growing frustrated. He's being trying to explain the kid some basic things, how to spot and track squirrels and rabbits, but he's losing his patience.

"Carl, yer not listening." He says, finally, turning around to face the kid.

Carl blinks with an expression that isn't completely innocent. He's offering resistance, he's ignoring him on purpose and Daryl doesn't get why.

"If ya don't wanna be here, then I can leave ya back at tha house." Daryl adds, more harshly than he intends to. He's not confident of his skills as a teacher and the lack of cooperation isn't helping at all.

Carl frowns and kicks the ground like a nervous horse, but doesn't answer. Daryl starts fidgeting and he could swear his left eye twitches for a moment.

"Ok, spill it, kid. What is it?"

"I'm not a kid!" Carl almost shouts, angrily. "I'm thirteen years old!"

Daryl arches his eyebrows and smirks, which only makes Carl look even madder.

"Ok, teenage boy, what is it? I asked ya if ya wanted to come, why did ya?"

"You didn't _ask_." Carl points out, sullenly. "You said my dad wanted me to come, so I did."

"If ya wanted to stay, you could've said so." Daryl counters, lifting his crossbow over his shoulder. "I'm not a fan of teaching people who don't wanna learn."

Carl scowls again and keeps quiet.

"You mad at yer dad?" Daryl finally dares to ask.

"No." Carl immediately answers, irritably, but not convincingly. Daryl only stares at him. "Yes. I don't know." Carl admits with a sigh, sounding upset.

Daryl looks around. He's not really cut up to this; he never had little brothers or sisters (it was just him and Merle), let alone kids of his own. He doesn't know how to handle a kid – though luckily Carl isn't so young. Daryl's blunt with pretty much everybody at the best of times, so now that he's playing teacher and a responsible adult, he doesn't really know how to approach this. Can he keep it simple, or should he make it sound pretty? Which way would a kid understand better?

"Why are you mad at him?" He then asks, trying to sound non-judgemental.

"Because of mom. And Sophia." Carl replies bitterly. "He said he would protect us, but he couldn't. He can't protect anyone, not even himself."

"Ya think he's weak?" Daryl asks, narrowing his eyes a little.

"No… Yes. Something like that. I don't know!"

"Why? 'Cause he got shot? Or 'cause he couldn't take yer mom outta that prison?" Daryl almost scoffs, remembering Lori's stupid stubbornness and refusal to leave.

"'Cause… 'Cause he said we could make it, we would all make it. And they all died, and mom…" Carl's voice breaks. He doesn't cry, though, and keeps an annoyed look on his face to cover up the sadness. Daryl can't handle tears well, but he can sure handle rage.

"Hey, Carl, listen." He starts, speaking plainly. Condescending him would be an insult. "You know by now, none of us know what will happen. Yer dad said he would keep y'all safe, and he tried to, he got shot trying to; but he can't control everything. He said you'd make it, but he wasn't sure it was true. No one can be sure. And he did his best, and that's what's important. He got _you_ outta there, safe and sound."

"But mom…" Carl starts to say.

"Yer mom…" Daryl stops, considering what is he going to say. "When your dad was lying in the infirmary, unconscious, remember? We – Andrea, Glenn, Maggie – we chose to go. And we gave that chance to the others, including your mom. She didn't want to leave, but she knew what that meant, that it was dangerous."

Carl opens his mouth, but nothing comes out. He grits his teeth trying to hold down the tears and pain, and breaths deeply.

"She thought y'all could make it in there, hold up the prison." Daryl adds after a long pause. "Yer dad tried to get outta there when he saw there was no other way out. If he didn't, you two'd… wouldn't be here" He corrects himself, but Carl knows what he was going to say.

"We'd be dead. Too. We'd be dead too. Like everybody else." He says coldly, detached. Death isn't surprising anymore, not after all this time. It's a cold, hard fact of their lives, and even he knows it.

It somehow seems to appease him, though. Maybe it's realizing how close it was, what would've really happened if they'd stayed and tried to help his mother and sister. How hard it is to stay alive. How tough he should be in order to stay alive.

The goal is simple: to live. And they've got to try their best, be brave and ruthless. And the dead are dead; even though nowadays they've started walking around, they won't come back as the people they were. So there's no point grinding on that, is it?

Daryl watches Carl carefully. Even though he's never thought much about it, he's not bad when it comes to reading people; and now he can see a boy that's still angry and sad, but who's also gaining control over it.

Daryl smiles a little, feeling the slightest hint of pride. The kid's going to be fine; and he himself isn't such a bad father figure, right?

"So… wanna learn how to hunt or not?" He says, waving his crossbow.

Carl looks at him silently for a moment. He needs to know this, his father is right; he needs to know it to survive and Carl has just decided that, whatever is useful to live, he is going to take.

"Sure." The boy nods, businesslike, but doesn't smile. Carl hasn't got a reason to smile in a while and he won't do it often in the future.

Daryl can work with that, so they go back to strolling around the forest and watching for squirrels and rabbits.

–––

Rick's standing at the door of Daryl's room, and he hesitates. He doesn't like to go into other people's life uninvited, let alone of someone so reserved as Daryl. Then he tells himself that they're going to be stuck together for God knows how much time and he should probably know a few more things about the redneck, so he shrugs and goes inside.

It's a way of keeping the bad memories in check, and he's curious about Daryl, why he came back, why he took them with him, why he's trying to be nice.

Honestly, Daryl always struck Rick as the kind of man to leave the weak and unsalvageable behind; he even did it with his brother. That's why his obsession with finding Sophia was all the more strange.

'_Am I like a young, frightened girl?_' Rick askes himself with a smirk.

Daryl doesn'tt have that many things, never had, really. The bed is unmade and there are some clothes lying around. He isn't exactly a neat freak, is he? Lori would have had a stroke just to see it, Rick muses with a smile.

Of course, that would've been before the end of the world. Back when she was a neurotic housewife who was constantly mad at Rick about him not talking, not sharing, not doing _something_. What was she wanted him to do, he never knew (and deep down, he has the feeling maybe she didn't even know herself).

Rick grits his teeth and turns around quickly, as if by leaving the room he could also leave the thoughts about his wife behind. If only.

He's been able to block all of these thoughts so far, but not anymore. He's alone and has no way to distract himself from thinking about Lori.

If he'd dared to be honest with himself (and that's something he's gotten used to during this mayhem) he was starting to fall out of love with her at that time, before he got shot and fell into a coma. He resented her 24/7 resentful attitude, and wished he didn't have to come home at the end of the day to an angry wife. He even started wishing (deep down, so down he would have never even acknowledge it) he'd never met her, or they'd never gotten married. He did love Carl (still does, with all his heart) and Rick suspects his son was the only reason why he kept on denying those thoughts and feelings.

He felt something similar to what he feels now; the hollow place in his chest and the coldness in his body, the sensation there isn't anything to strive for in the short term (long term there had always been something; in this case, his plans are mostly surviving). But today, tomorrow, the day after that… it's a blank.

Losing her then... it's so similar to losing her now. It makes Rick uneasy, and glad, and sick.

They fought so much during their last time together, mostly about how to bring up Carl in this world, what to teach him, what things they should allow the boy to do; and about their life, the farm, the prison, Rick leaving every time there was something that needed to be done; and Shane, Rick killing Shane, Shane being like a father to Carl and probably little Sophia's biological father (they never got into Sophia's parentage explicitly, but it was always there, a big, suffocating, horrible, fucking elephant in the room).

He had loved her, madly even, as every young love there is. He had loved her, but at some point she'd started to drift away – or maybe it had been him, Rick doesn't even care anymore. The thing was they'd changed and didn't recognize themselves as the young kids they'd once been; they didn't know each other anymore and knew each other too well at the same time.

Had they still been in love after all those wedges had been driven between them?

Rick thinks they did, but it was never like before, never. They'd been a family, but an almost-broken family. Had they suck together merely because of habit, blood and whatnot?

Then again, which family didn't?

Lori could never deal with this world, and Rick could. He learnt, he adapted quickly; she only wanted to keep things as they were (and at the same time, she didn't), and Rick isn't sure which is better. He knows which is more adaptative, but he's not sure about _better_.

Oh, fuck this. He's not been thinking about wrong or right for a long time now, and that's better; he feels better not wondering about that crap anymore. He's not going to start second-guessing everything he's done and everything he's not done, there's no point in it. (No point in guilt if it didn't get you to heaven, right?)

God, he's sounding like Daryl.

Rick snorts and thinks vaguely that the redneck is a fucking genius; he got it figured out so long before Rick did, and he was right: no point in breaking your head over things you can't solve or change or do or undo. 'Right and wrong' is just one of those things.

He does miss her, though. They'd been together for so many years that she'd become the north in his map, his way of calculating what to do and what not to do: he had to keep his family safe, and that was always the first thing.

He still has Carl, but he's his son, he won't sit down with him and discuss what he doesn't think is right, or hold him when he's insecure (Rick's never let anyone see that part of him besides Lori – and sometimes Shane – and she'd almost always known what to say, or whenever he only needed a hug). He's got no one to lay on, no partner anymore, and he already misses it.

But he does have a goal he's determined to chase at all costs: keep his son alive.

–––

Daryl and Carl return to the house about an hour later, and the grown man is carrying a couple of rabbits he shot with his crossbow. He started teaching Carl how to fire said weapon and he's not bad with it, although he's still too young to load it on his own, for it requires a lot of strength. Of course, the boy's had practice with guns before (in fact, he still carries the gun that used to be Daryl's on his belt).

Daryl wonders if maybe he could find a smaller kind of crossbow at some hunting store in the nearby towns. Maybe Carl would like that.

Carl is quiet and deep in thought. Daryl knows why, and why he's upset, but he has to tell the kid to keep his guard up.

"Hey, Carl, keep your eyes open. All the time." Dixon says, tapping his shoulder.

Carl does as he's been told.

About twenty minutes ago, as the young Grimes boy was going to shoot the crossbow again, this time trying to hit a squirrel they had spotted near the base of a tree, they heard a sudden scream of pain.

Daryl yanked the crossbow from him and put his finger on his lips to tell Carl to be quiet. The kid nodded. Daryl motioned for Carl to follow him and started moving towards the place where the cry had come, making practically no sound as the skilled hunter he was. Carl tried to do the same, with little success, and keeping his right hand close to his gun.

Daryl stopped abruptly and Carl crashed against his back. Daryl shushed him sharply and told him to walk slowly. They could hear more screams now, dying screams, and grunts from what should be a big pack of walkers. And it was.

As they took a turn and climbed up a small hill they found themselves watching as a man was being attacked by about twenty geeks that were starting to bite his legs. The man, somehow still alive and still wearing his thick glasses, let out more yelps filled with terror.

"God. Should we…?" Carl hushed urgently.

"Nothin' we can do for 'im, kid." Daryl answered immediately, surveying the forest in case there were any more walkers. "He's been bitten. He's dead already."

"But… why? He's alone in the middle of the forest… He… he doesn't even have a gun!" Carl muttered almost to himself. Daryl looked at him for a second. "You think he _wanted_ to…?"

"Probably. Anyway, there's nothin' to do here; we should go before they see us." Daryl shrugged and then turned around. Carl stood there, as if nailed to the ground, watching the horrific scene in front of him. Daryl grabbed him by the shoulder. "C'mon."

Carl tore his eyes from the dying man just as he finally stopped screaming and the air was filled with the sounds of the walkers feeding. Carl felt sick and a little dizzy, but followed Daryl closely.

"We going home?" Carl asked a few minutes later.

"Yeah." Daryl nodded and slowed his pace. "That's enough for one day."

–––

Rick is in the kitchen when they get back. He was starting to get worried, so he feels a lot relieved to see his son safe and sound. Then he notices the look on the boy's face as he sits at the table, and Rick immediately asks:

"Carl? What happened?"

His son looks at him and blinks, as if he hadn't noticed Rick's presence until now.

"We… Uh, there was a man…" Carl mumbles.

"A man?"

"He got killed by a pack of walkers, 'bout twenty of 'em." Daryl chimes in. Rick looks at the redneck, who is leaning against the kitchen counter with his arms crossed. "Heard a scream and found him, but he'd been bitten."

"They just…? Oh, God." Rick whispers. Apparently he _can_ still be impressed by it. Go figure. "Did they see you?" He asks, although he's pretty sure about the answer.

"Nope. They were too busy." Daryl answers with a disgusted smirk.

Rick nods and looks at Carl again. His son seems to have pulled himself together, although he's still looking kind of pale.

"You ok?" Rick asks quietly.

"Yes." Carl nods without meeting his eyes. He stands up. "Can you teach me what to do with those?" He asks Daryl, pointing at the dead rabbits.

The man gives him a half grin and a nod.

"Sure."

Rick recognizes that his son doesn't want to talk about what happened, so he just turns to Daryl and asks:

"Did you catch those?"

"Yeah. Carl tried to nail a couple squirrels and I lost two arrows." Daryl answers and can't help but grin at Rick with some mischief but also with pride.

Carl doesn't seem to pay any attention to them.

* * *

_I'm not sure when the next chapter will be posted. Real life (aka: university) is getting stressing for the next two weeks. But I'll do my best to have next chapter ready and checked by my Beta ASAP._

I must say, right now, I'm not really good with kids; I never had younger siblings or even younger cousins around. That also means, I don't really know how to write a kid down besides trying to remember how I was as a child (and I was a bit of an odd child. And I still am). It was really a challenge. Luckily (and Daryl probably gets that from me) Carl isn't really that young (in the TV show) so it isn't _too_ hard. I hope it came out ok.

_Useless info:_

(1) "It's evolution, baby" It's a line from a song by Pearl Jam called "Do the evolution".  
By the way, I don't know a thing about Clint Eastwood other than he became famous for staring cowboy movies (it's one of those clichés one picks up on TV or movies).  
I've got no idea what kind of music Rick would like, so I kind of stick to basics: my reference was going to be either Mick Jagger or Paul McCartney. Not sure why I chose Mick Jagger; maybe because I like the song by Maroon 5 "Moves like Jagger" (LOL).


	5. Chapter 4: These Days

It kind of scares me just how easily this fict is going. I fear I could get a sudden writer's block and it'll end up like almost every other fict I've written. But for once, I have most of it really figured out, so let's pray I don't get stuck at some random point.

This chap is long, although quick in action. A lot of things happen here, and I should say, I really enjoyed writing it; even though the last part grows a little depressing. I tried not to push any of that too much, the drama nor the lighter scenes.

I like how Daryl's turning up. What can I say; he's always been my favorite.

**Disclaimer:** I don't own this, yadda, yadda, yadda.

**Warnings: **Swearing, violence, a little gore.

This chapter is **unbetaded**, so feel free to correct any grammar or spelling mistakes. Honestly, I'm wondering what happened to my Beta, because she hasn't answered my e-mails. Hope you're ok, Doctorkaitilyn.

* * *

**Chapter 4: These Days**

_I've been out walking  
I don't do too much talking  
these days, these days.  
These days I seem to think a lot  
about the things that I forgot to do  
and all the times I had the chance to._

_I've stopped my rambling,  
I don't do too much gambling  
These days, these days.  
These days I seem to think about  
how all the changes came about my ways  
and I wonder if I'll see another highway._

_I've stopped my dreaming,  
I won't do too much scheming  
these days, these days.  
These days I sit on corner stones  
and count the time in quarter tones to ten.  
Please don't confront me with my failures,  
I have not forgotten them._

_(Nico – These Days)_

–––

_That there, that's not me  
I go where I please  
I walk through walls  
I float down the Liffey_

_I'm not here  
this isn't happening  
I'm not here, I'm not here_

_(Radiohead – How To Disappear Completely (And Never Be Found Again))_

–––

That night, Rick decides he's feeling good enough and that they should get a move on; so he tells that to Daryl. They don't have that many bullets or food, and the others don't know what happened to the three of them, and are probably thinking they're all dead.

Daryl, though, doesn't seem too thrilled with the idea.

"Maybe we should give it … I don't know… a couple more days. Ya were in pretty bad shape." He says, fumbling with a can opener he was using and looking around nervously.

Rick frowns.

"'M fine now." He repeats, a little impatient. "We can't stay here much longer, and we should get back to the others soon."

Daryl doesn't agree. He tries to figure out a reason to make them stay, even if just a little longer; but there's just no good argument for that. Rick's right. Damn him.

–––

They leave the house a little after dawn. Daryl's driving, and although he hasn't said anything after their conversation last night, Rick knows that he's angry.

Well, stop the presses. Rick won't even ask what's bothering him – not yet, at least.

Rick just looks out the window, letting his mind wander around everything and nothing at all. The rest of the group, for what Daryl told him, decided to go back to Hershel's farm, at least temporarily; mostly because they didn't know where else to go. They'd found the place a little run down, but the herd that had brought them out of the house had mostly disappeared. They'd planned to stay there at least until Andrea and Daryl came back from the prison. All the more reason to go before they decided to move somewhere else, Rick thinks.

Rick remembers their life at the farm, and his silly hopes of them having found shelter there; he remembers Lori telling him she was pregnant; Lori pregnant with Carl; the first time they met, so many years ago. He remembers Lori and Shane – the obvious truth –; and Shane sitting in the car, with his face covered with bruises and a split lip (Rick still felt kind of proud about being able to beat up Shane, a guy almost twice his size); Shane throwing him a huge wrench, showing his true colors at last; Shane pointing a gun at him with a crazy yet pained expression on his face.

Who would have guessed Rick would end up killing his best friend from high school? Let alone ending up stuck with an ill-tempered, unstable redneck as his wingman.

Rick smirks. He doesn't need anything like a wingman right now, to be honest; he's done calling the shots and making hard decisions that end up badly. He's done being a leader.

Rick remembers the time when they first got to the prison, the way he started laying on Daryl as if they'd known each other all of their lives. And for a while, and although Daryl seemed a little taken back by Rick's sudden asking for support, he'd given his best to be the second in command of their little group.

That was back when Rick had gotten to place himself as the undisputed leader, calling the end of democracy and all that – it didn't last long, of course. Rick wasn't a real fan of tyranny, but he was desperate and saw no other way out. Daryl, back then, had been the only one to stand by him all the time, even showing his agreement, and almost never questioning orders. He'd even made Rick laugh in a time when everybody else wasn't even talking to him.

He'd also been the only one to speak to Rick frankly. He never pretended that the rest of the group didn't hate Rick. He never made a fuss about it either, he just shrugged it off.

Both of them were planning on how to get in the prison, when Rick had suddenly asked:

"I screw that up, didn't I?"

A little while ago he'd tried to explain the others the importance of their discovery, that a prison was the best shelter they could ever find. And the others hadn't said a thing; instead they shot him dirty looks or just looked away.

So Rick had snapped.

Daryl looked at him for a few seconds. Then, to Rick's surprise, he laughed.

"Yeah, you screwed it big time." Daryl nodded, unashamed. "They're still mad at ya."

"I know." Rick muttered darkly. Daryl shot him a knowing look, but he didn't speak. "Do they not understand this, that this is our shot?" Rick asked vehemently.

"They do. They'll get over it." Daryl replied.

"Didn't look like that to me." Rick sighed, frustrated.

"Relax, give 'em time. When we're in there, they'll feel safe again." Daryl scratched his ear and patted Rick's shoulder. "They're gonna forgive ya. Just… go easy on them."

And so they did, they forgave him. And also, as soon as the prison was safe, they stood up to Rick and told him that he wasn't the leader anymore. Rick wasn't happy, he felt they didn't appreciate everything he'd done for them, but he agreed. There was no point in fighting your own people, was it?

Around that time, Daryl started to drift away from the group as well. He became edgy and started isolating again. Luckily, when he started hunting again, around a month after they'd settled in, it seemed to appease him.

Rick guessed that Daryl just wasn't meant to live in a cage, even if said cage was their refuge from thousands of walking corpses.

The pick-up stops rather abruptly and Rick comes back to the present. Only now he notices that they've come across a herd of approximately thirty walkers. They've deal with worse, but now there are only two of them who can fight. There are two abandoned cars , one on each side of the road. That could make things problematic, but there's enough place for them to maneuver the pick-up around, Rick thinks.

"Fuck." Daryl curses under his breath. "Now what?"

"We get past them." Rick replies, watching the geeks closely. Only a few of them have noticed their presence.

"Yeah, but we could use the gas." Daryl mutters.

"We can take them out." Rick says, thoughtfully. "About… What? Fifteen each? It's not so hard."

"You up to that?"

Rick rolls his eyes.

"Said I'm _fine_, mother." He snaps.

Daryl presses his lips and has the decency to look a little bit embarrassed.

"Whatever. But I ain't keeping your kid, so ya better watch it." Daryl grumbles, stepping out of the pick-up and grabbing his crossbow.

"Hey!" Carl protest, angrily.

"Nothing personal, kid." Daryl says, smirking at Carl. "I just ain't father material."

"No kidding." Carl huffs sarcastically.

Rick ignores both of them, and gets out of the vehicle as well. He picks a hammer from the back of the vehicle. He makes sure his gun has enough bullets.

"I can go too." Carl says, taking his gun out.

"No. Stay in the car." Rick replies immediately.

"But I _can_! I've shot them before!"

"Carl, stay in the car! We want to keep this quiet, so no gun unless necessary." Rick states and closes the passenger side door.

Daryl has already taken two walkers out, and he's collecting the bolts.

"Let's go." Rick says. Daryl nods and they walk into the heard roaming along the highway.

–––

They stick together. Daryl uses his crossbow a couple of times until they're too close for it to be safe. Then he takes his knife out. They learned long ago not to get surrounded, so they keep on watching each other's backs and moving as one. Rick learnt how to so this in the academy, and he can only guess Daryl learnt it with Merle. What for? One can only speculate.

Rick doesn't really count how many they kill, but he has the feeling he has taken out around four or five. It's been long since the last time he did this, but he soon remembers that he actually _likes_ it. The adrenalin rush, the feeling of accomplishment.

Rick reminds himself one should never forget to check under cars for walkers hiding there. It was the easiest way for them to get you. But there are no geeks underneath the cars, and Rick and Daryl keep on moving – always moving, always keeping safe distant from the others, always watching their surroundings. The rest of the pack has notices them, and they're stumbling towards them, growling.

Daryl signals Rick to pull back. They back off, and Daryl loads his crossbow again. Two of the faster walkers get arrows stuck in their foreheads.

"I need one of those." Rick mutters.

They get to the cars, and that slows the walkers down, as they get jammed in their intent of getting warm food, and both men strike down.

Rick takes his gun out, quiet time is over. He shoots a couple of them, and then Daryl also has his gun in hand and both of them take the rest of the herd down.

When the last one's gone, they stand there, panting. Daryl pats Rick's shoulder.

"What, you tired?" He smirks.

"Fuck off." Rick counters, smiling. He wipes his forehead and rests his hands on his hips. "We're almost out of bullets now. We better not run into another herd…"

BANG!

Rick and Daryl turn around, lifting their guns. Carl is standing outside the pick-up, aiming at a dead walker that's now lying right next to one of the cars. It had been sneaking around it, and neither Daryl nor Rick had noticed it yet.

"Told ya I can do it." Carl says, gloating.

–––

The cars had little gas, but they take it none the less. There's no telling on when will they find more.

Carl is going through what's left inside the trunks of the cars. There aren't many useful things. He finds a compass that he tucks it away in his pocket, a couple of books, a Tetris game without batteries, a couple cellphones, a laptop and some canned beans that seem to have expired (but he takes them anyway). Most of all, he just finds blankets and clothes.

No wonder why these people died.

His father is starting siphoning the second car. Daryl is standing around, keeping watch.

"Can you track anything around here?" Carl asks the redneck, pointing towards the nearby field.

"Somethin' like what?" Daryl scoffs.

"I don't know… a deer, maybe?"

"Nah, those woods are too small." Daryl says, pointing towards a forest on top of the hill. "No deer goes around small forests."(1)

"Rabbits then?" Carl asks, hopefully.

Daryl barks a laugh.

"You think I can see that from here?"

Carl shifts uncomfortably.

"You can track anything." The boy finally mumbles. "Could there be rabbits around here?"

Daryl cocks an eyebrow. These city people think he's some kind of super human just because he can track and hunt.

"I think." He answers, scratching his ear. He points towards one of the sides of the hill. "Maybe that way."

"Why?" Carl asks, curiously.

"Just a hunch." Daryl shrugs.

Carl frowns. He would like to go and check out, but he's pretty sure his father won't let him.

Daryl lifts his crossbow. Carl follows his eyes and he spots a walker coming out of the woods. After a few seconds Daryl lowers his crossbow.

"Can't you take it?" Carl asks.

"I think I can, but if I don't I'm gonna lose an arrow." Dixon states dismissively and takes another look around. "Rick, you done there?"

"Almost." The deputy replies. He stands up and dusts his hands on his jeans. "Everything all right?"

"Yeah. Just a loner over there."

Rick comes to stand by them and narrows his eyes looking at the walkers stumbling their way.

"I think there are two." He says.

A second figure came after the first, and it's moving way too fast to be…

"It's a person!" Carl exclaims.

Daryl lifts his crossbow again. Rick takes his gun out. Carl doesn't need to ask why.

The person walks after the geek, and it turns around, growling. But it stops and falls dead a split second later. It's head has been severed.

"Carl, get it the…" Rick starts.

"It's Michonne!" Carl shouts.

Rick blinks, and after a moment he recognizes her too. There's a sword shining under the sun, and who else goes around killing walkers with a katana?

"Hey, there!" She calls, lifting her sword and coming to them. "Long time no see!"

"How'd you find us?" Rick asks, his heart feeling lighter.

"I just… walked." Michonne shrugs. She steps into the road. "I remembered you came this way, so I hoped to see you again."

Carl launches himself towards her and hugs her. She seems surprised and a little confused, but after a few seconds she smiles and hugs him back.

"I'm happy to see you too, Carl."

"You're awesome! How did you do that?" The boy asks, pulling back.

Michonne just shrugs, noncommittally.

"I walked. And kept my eyes open." Michonne then looks over at Daryl. "You taught me well. I bet I can hunt better than you by now."

Daryl doesn't know what to say for a long moment, but he smiles at her, feeling happy that she's such a tough woman.

"Yeah, right. No woman can beat a Dixon when it comes to hunting." He finally replies.

"Asshole." Michonne mutters, shaking her head, but smiling anyway. She hugs him tightly. Daryl seems as lost as Michonne was when Carl hugged her, but then he relaxes.

Rick shifts, suddenly feeling very awkward.

"Mind if I tag along?" Michonne asks the deputy.

"You don't even have to ask." He nods.

–––

"I can ride in the back." Daryl says when they're ready to go again. "Ya do know how to drive, right?" He asks Michonne, throwing the keys to the pick-up at her.

"Sexist hick." She snaps.

"Classist nigger." Daryl counters.

"I can drive too, you know?" Rick chimes in, cocking an eyebrow. It's the only way to get them to stop. And, honestly, he feels a little cut out.

It's always like that with those two; no wonder why everybody, including T-Dog, thought they had something. He did think so too, before he… stumbled into Billy and Daryl, of course. He didn't see that much, but enough to make out whom they were. He quickly suppresses the memory with a shudder. Damned people who forgot to close the door to the showers; or at least hang a sock on the doorknob, or something.

"Whatever." Daryl shrugs and climbs in.

"Can I go with Daryl in the back?" Carl asks.

Rick lifts his eyebrows, stunned. Seems like Carl isn't afraid of Daryl anymore.

"Sure."

"Great!" Carl smiles and climbs into the pick-up too. "Daryl, my dad said I can ride with you."

Daryl blinks and looks at Rick with a baffled (and a little scared) expression. Rick shrugs at him and smiles.

"You wanted to take him hunting." Rick mocks.

"I didn't _wanna_, you _asked_." Daryl replies, narrowing his eyes.

"You agreed."

Daryl huffs, but doesn't answer to that.

"Those two are bonding?" Michonne asks loud enough for everybody to hear, leaning against the vehicle. "You sure it's a good idea, Rick?"

Daryl's ears turn a little pink.

"It _was_ Rick's idea." He grunts. "Seems like I have to teach how to hunt to everybody these days, y'all useless city people."

"Carl, do as all a favor and throw that redneck outta the truck." Michonne says. "Curves are the best places."

"Carl, man, you wouldn't, right?" Daryl asks, winking at Carl.

Carl frowns and looks between them carefully, wondering why some adults are so childish at times, and trying to make out what is he supposed to answer. Both Daryl and Michonne are waiting for his verdict.

"No way." He finally decides, shaking his head.

Daryl grins and pats the boy's shoulder.

"Atta boy."

Michonne rolls her eyes, but she smiles a little (2).

–––

Rick drives. Michonne is quiet in the passenger sit, but she usually is. Daryl's the only one who gets her to talk, even if it is by pissing her off constantly. It's kind of puzzle, how those two get along when all they do is fight and exchange insults, and being they're so different: she was a successful attorney, educated, rich; he was just a racist hillbilly with a drug dealer brother and no steady job. Well, they're both short tempered, stoic and not at all subtle. Maybe that's why.

Why's Rick wondering about that, anyway?

"I didn't want to ask in front of Carl, but…" Michonne starts, softly. "Lori, Hershel, Alice… any chance they…?"

Rick tightens his grip on the steering wheel and takes a deep breath when something seems to dig a knife between his ribs.

(So, that's why he was wondering about things that don't matter.)

"No." He answers in a whisper.

"I'm sorry." She nods, and doesn't ask anything further.

It's almost nightfall when they find the private road that leads into Hershel's farm. Rick taps on the back window and signals Daryl to keep his eyes open. The other man nods and stands up. Carl does the same.

"How did you end up together?" Michonne suddenly asks.

"What'd you mean?" Rick asks back, confused.

"You three. I saw cars leaving the prison, and this pick-up was one of them. It had Daryl's motorcycle in the back." Michonne explains.

Rick nods, a little absentmindedly.

"They left. Daryl, Andrea, Beth, Maggie and Glenn. Seems like it was the best call."

Michonne frowns, and seems like she's about to argue, but in the end she doesn't.

"I guess you're right." She finally agrees. "Daryl came back?"

"Yeah, and Andrea too. She shot at them; almost got the Governor." Rick tells shortly. He has mixed feelings about what happened that day, including the growing frustration for Michonne not killing the Governor when she had the chance. "Carl and I… we… got out. Daryl picked us up. He'd been covering for Andrea. She took off when they crashed her car."

"Huh."

Michonne doesn't add anything, to Rick's relief. He isn't ready to talk about it yet.

Then they see the farm and the burnt down barn. Rick is suddenly overcome by memories of the time they spent there; memories about Hershel, and Lori, and Shane, and the herd, Sophia, the barn, Dale, even Randall. He slams the breaks, unable to focus on the road for now.

"Rick?" Michonne asks, worried.

Rick only shakes his head and breathes deep. After a few moments a tapping on his window startles him. Daryl's there, with his crossbow on his back.

"Everythin' alright?" He asks when Rick rolls down the window.

"Yeah." Rick nods, rubbing his face. "Seen anything?"

"Nah. But I'm guessing Andrea's on the roof or somethin' like that. So we better come in slow." Daryl suggests.

"Sure." Rick agrees.

And they drive towards the house. There's nobody in sight, and Rick starts to fear the other have moved out or that something happened to them. When they're almost at the house, Daryl shouts:

"Andrea!"

Rick looks at him, twisting his neck out the window, and he sees that the redneck is waiving his crossbow. That's actually a pretty good idea, he realizes. Who else uses one of those?

"Daryl?" A woman shouts back.

That's when Rick sees her, perched upon a window, aiming squarely at Daryl's head with her rifle.

"Don't ya dare to shoot me with that thang again!" Dixon snarls.

Rick starts to pull over in front of the porch, when he hears a familiar voice.

"It's Daryl!" Glenn exclaims, disbelieving. He's coming out the door with a shotgun in his hand, grinning furiously. "Took you long enough!"

"Fuck off, Chinaman! Had to pick a few people on the way here!" Daryl shouts back while jumping off the pick-up, grinning right back.

"Rick?" Glenn asks, bug-eyed. His mouth falls slack. "Hey, it's Rick! He's alive!"

Rick smiles shyly back, suddenly overwhelmed by the sight of the people he'd come to consider as his group and maybe even his family. Maggie is coming out the door as well, and Beth. Andrea is probably coming downstairs as well.

Glenn comes out of his daze and hugs Daryl –who lets go as soon as he can–, and then Rick.

"Wow, I'm so happy to see you, man!" The young man says. "We thought, maybe…"

"We're ok. But we're the only ones who got out." Rick says, before anyone gets to ask. It's easier that way. "I'm sorry."

Maggie's face darkens, and Beth holds on to her.

"I knew it." Maggie mumbles. "He said he felt it was the last time he saw us."

Those had been Hershel's last words towards her daughters. Rick nods, hating to be the bearer of ill news.

Andrea comes out of the house, thankfully breaking the uncomfortable moment.

"Where did you found them?" She asks Daryl.

"Outside the prison. And Michonne found us on the road." Daryl replies, crossing his arms.

"But where were you? That was like four days ago. We were thinking you'd been caught or something. We didn't know if we should go get you or…" Andrea frowns.

"Rick got sick, had a fever and all. We had to stay put for a while." Daryl mumbles, awkwardly. He feels his ears starting to burn a little and he hates himself for it.

Andrea only nods.

–––

Andrea gives Hershel's old room to Rick and Carl. Maggie and Glenn are sharing her old room, Beth has hers, and Andrea takes the one that belong to Billy. Michonne takes the other one, a small room that used to be empty, which leaves Daryl on the couch. Michonne offered to share the room with him, but he refused. He needs his space, and more important, he knows that she needs hers.

Rick is tired, and the arrival at the farm has drained him of all the energy he had left; the memories and the grief that took over the house when he brought the news of Hershel's and Billy's deaths leave him exhausted. Yet, when he gets in bed, he can't sleep. He's just too tired to sleep, and his mind keeps on working on overdrive.

So after almost half an hour of rolling around the bed, he gets up, if only not to wake up Carl.

He crawls silently towards the stairs. He can hear someone crying, he thinks it's probably Michonne, and hesitates. After considering it, he decides to go on his way; for what he knows her, she probably just wants to be alone right now.

Rick goes into the kitchen, making as little noise as he can. They're trying to save gas and to lie low, so they turn off the generator at night, and don't use it unless necessary. That means Rick is left in the dark kitchen lightened only by the moon. After thinking about it, he goes out to the porch.

He can see a lot of his surrounding's, despite the dim light. He suddenly hates the peaceful sight of meadows and forests, because of it reminds him of Lori and Shane. Rick starts pacing around, although his naked feet are dead cold.

He never thought about this part, about the memories and the grief he could find in this place. He has important people buried here, Dale and Sophia, but both Lori and Shane have been left out in the open. And little Sophia too. Hell, he killed Shane not so far from here, and his rotting body is probably in the same place he left it, even if the walkers from the herd ate some of it.

It should sicken Rick to think about it, but it's not the first time this thought has crossed his mind.

Maybe he should go and try to find Shane's remains, burry them properly. It's more than what he can do for his wife.

Rick sits on a bench, and draws his knees to his chest, mostly to protect his feet from the cold floor, and stays there for a while, mourning. He has to, he needs to.

Daryl wakes up when Rick comes back in, almost an hour later, and lifts his head.

"Somethin' happened?" The redneck asks, sleepily.

Rick startles and curses himself for forgetting that Daryl was there.

"Sorry. Everythin's fine. Just can't sleep."

Daryl drops his head back down and puts an arm over his eyes.

"Still? Maybe ya should take the night watch." He mumbles.

Rick nods.

"Yeah, it's not a bad idea, actually."

"I'm a fuckin' genius. Now, let me sleep." Daryl snorts, rolling over himself so his back is facing Rick.

–––

Next morning Rick leaves Carl under Beth's watch, although his son argued that he's old enough not to have a babysitter. He takes out a shovel and walks towards the place where he killed Shane.

The others have already burnt some of the bodies from the walkers that they had killed before leaving the farm last year and the ones they'd killed when they came back a few days ago; but as he walks further away from the house he finds some still rotting under the blazing sun. Rick covers his nose and keeps going.

He doesn't remember the exact place, so he wanders around a while until he finds something that used to be a human body. There's not much left after almost a year, but it still has some clothes and it's definitively Shane.

Rick kneels next to the remains, and rubs his face.

"I'm… sorry. I owed you something more than just this, although you tried to kill me. You were my best friend for years. I guess this was just too much for us." He mutters.

Rick stands up with a sigh, and looks around. After a moment, he decides to start digging right there. It's as good a place as any.

When he's halfway done, he stops to drink from the bottle he brought with him. The sun is getting too hot and there's no shade on the hill where he is. Rick considers leaving the rest of the work for later, although most of him just wants to get this over with.

Rick sits down on the grass, and looks around. The farm is beautiful. Rick remembers when Hershel told him that he used to look at it just to remind himself of God's presence. Rick's thoughts in this scenery, on the other hand, go around his wife and best friend; yet, burying Shane seems to be helping him somehow, helping him let go of his friend's death at least, and move on.

He still wishes he could go back and do the same for Lori, though. Another part of him fears he couldn't stand returning to the prison.

Rick sighs, thinking he should get back and have something to eat and to drink before he dies of a heat stroke. He stands up, and it's only in that moment that he sees it, a female walker that is wandering aimlessly just out of the woods, and not too far from Rick himself. Rick takes the shovel and walks towards it.

The walker sees him and goes to him; it's tall, with brown hair that is dirty and tangled with twigs and leafs, and it's wearing a plaid shirt. Rick's mind suddenly stops working, stops thinking as only one word fills his head.

Lori. It's Lori.

He feels like crying. A small voice on the back of his head starts shouting at him, telling him it's not possible, it can't be, they're too far away for it to be Lori. But he can't listen to it, all he can do is think '_I'm sorry, I'm so sorry, I'm so very sorry'_ while the shovel escapes from his hands an falls to the ground with a thud.

Regret and pain fills his head. He stands there, frozen to the spot, while the walker keeps coming at him.

* * *

_Dun-dun-duuuuun. Ok, it's a little bit of cheap suspense, but I couldn't help it._

_Next chapter will be up, hopefully, next week. It's almost done. Just as a tease: I'll let you know it's called "Bodies" (because of the Smashing Pumpkins' song) and it has a lot of Daryl, and more info about Carol and Billy._

(1): I'm making that up – I don't know a thing about hunting. If someone does know about it and it's wrong, please let me know.

(2): Michonne, in the comics, is actually very stoic, she doesn't show much emotion. I feel she smiles a lot here, even though she's not so long ago lost her boyfriend. For some reason, my version of Daryl has tuned out a little of a comic relief, making all of these sad people smile, even just a little while.

I played Michonne and Daryl's friendship a little like my relationship with my best friend. We do fight a lot and people are always thinking we're a couple. It just felt right.

…

I know that there's a big cultural difference between my country and the USA. In my country we hug and touch people a lot –for USA's or others countries standards, I mean. It's Latin America, baby. I've been to Europe, and what I missed the most what human contact. I try to keep my characters from hugging and touching all the time, but if it ever seems to you that people touch each other too much, it's because of that. I don't mean it as a sexual thing, it's just a habit of mine.


	6. Chapter 5: Bodies

Carol's story is in here, and it's sad. There's also some of Billy's story. More about him will come in the next chapter.

On a more cheerful note, the guitar comes back (for more info, read _'Look At Me' or 'A Man Of Honor'_).

**Disclaimer:** Ditto.

**Beta Reader: **My good **Doctorkaitlyn**. As always :).

**Warnings: **Swearing, violence, and childish, pigheaded men.

I'd like to thank my reviewers, **Dropkicking Bullet Shells **(who has reviewed almost every chapter and that makes me happy; and who also recommended me in her fict Dollface, which I love) and **velvetmr73 **who was so very sweet and supportive.

I've have this chapter ready for a few days, but wasn't gonna publish it until next week. Dropkicking Bullet Shells, I'm doing this for you, mostly, being you've been my biggest encouragement (as well as my good Beta Reader, Doctorkaitlyn).

* * *

**Chapter 5: Bodies**

_Why should I stay here?  
Why should I stay?_

_I'd be crazy not to follow,  
follow where you lead.  
Your eyes  
they turn me.  
Turn me on to phantoms.  
I follow to the edge of the earth  
and fall off._

_(Radiohead - Weird Fishes/Arpeggi)_

–––

_The tragedies reside in you  
the secret sights hide in you  
the lonely nights divide you in two_

_All my blisters now revealed  
in the darkness of my dreams  
in the spaces in between us_

_But no bodies ever knew  
No bodies  
No bodies felt like you  
No bodies_

_Love is suicide_

_(The Smashing Pumpkins – Bodies)_

–––

Daryl leaves the house early that day. They've asked him to go hunting – big surprise! – so he does it. He thinks about taking Carl with him – he kind of likes being looked up to, for a change – or maybe Michonne, but both of them seem to be still sleeping.

He strolls around, not in too much of a hurry, and soon ends up by the pond where he once took Carol to see a blossoming Cherokee rose. When he realizes where he's at, he frowns. He didn't mean to walk this way, but apparently his subconscious isn't letting go of Carol.

He feels a little bit responsible for how things turned up for her. She didn't say it, but it was clear as day that he was the reason of her death. She had tried to make him her anchor, and he kept avoiding it.

She started acting all weird and depressive not long after they got to the prison. She kept fussing over him, and he kept running away, just like they'd done for the last few weeks, after Sophia's (second) death. She tried to get him to talk, to take care of him. And although he… appreciated the intention, he didn't need someone to watch over him – hell, he has been watching for himself for as long as he can remember.

She unsettled him. It wasn't because she cared about him, it was because of _why_ she cared. She wanted someone to replace her husband – that big, useless asshole, who controlled every step she took, everything she did, beat her up every chance he got. She _needed_ someone to tell her what to do, what to think. She was just that kind of woman.

He has never wanted to control anyone; hell, he hasn't even had a long relationship with anyone, because he can't stand _needy_ people. And he can't stand been controlled either. And, of course, he hasn't had a long relationship because maintaining a relationship with another man in his world was simply impossible.

No, he's better off alone. Or better off without something serious, bonding, codependent.

(Somewhere deep down, he knows that's a big pile of bullshit. He needs his freedom, yes, but he's also just too scared of a bad outcome, of getting hurt; and way too used not to _trusting_ people. When you trust, you can get hurt.)

And – and this is what unsettled him the most – Carol reminded him of his mother. He doesn't remember that much of her because she left when he was about nine, but he remembers her being just like that: fragile, soft, tender, needy. She wasn't even strong enough to take her sons with her when she left; she gave in to his husbands shouting and left Daryl and Merle there.

Daryl waited for weeks for her return. He stayed awake until past midnight, hoping to hear her knock on the door. He just _knew_ she'd come back, at least for him – Merle was already a lost cause, he'd been in juvy at least twice by the time she left.

Eventually, after almost a month and a half, Daryl understood he wasn't going to see her ever again. Daryl isn't sure if he would've liked to see her, anyway; he would've asked her why the hell she couldn't have been a little braver, a little stronger. Couldn't she even _guess_ how would it be for Daryl to grow up only with his dickhead father and Merle? (He loved his brother, but he hated his brother. Merle caused him more trouble than anything else, but Daryl didn't have anyone else, so he couldn't get rid of him, run away from him. Yet, Merle was there for him sometimes, when no one else was.)

Probably Daryl's mother knew he would resent her, and that's why she never came back. Only God knows. She's most likely long dead, so he'll never know for sure.

Daryl shakes his head to clear his thoughts.

Well, so Carol had started getting depressed, isolating. Daryl, who had started drifting away from the group as well, didn't do anything about it; he only assumed she would get over it, she would understand that he wasn't what she wanted or needed. Not Daryl.

He'd just started hunting with Michonne (and just started sleeping with Billy) when Carol first tried to kill herself. Lori had shouted at Daryl, blaming him for it. He snapped right back, telling her that he hadn't been the one to drive the razor against Carol's wrists.

Later, though, he tried to talk to Carol. He asked her why she'd done it. Carol shrugged, and looked away.

"What's the point anymore?" She whispered.

He couldn't give her an answer, he couldn't be her reason to live. If he kept on living, it was because he wanted to; he saw no point, no goal other than life itself. He _enjoyed_ this life every chance he got. If she wanted out, he couldn't stop her.

"My girl's gone, I've got no one. I'm just a burden to these people, and they don't even care about me." Carol added after a long pause, looking at him in the eye. She seemed to be completely broken.

She'd gotten better, physically at least. But he knew she would try it again. The others tried to fool themselves – all but Andrea and Beth, probably. Those two had gone through it, and especially Andrea had a good eye for it.

Daryl did feel bad about it, but he knew it wasn't really his choice.

The rest of the group welcomed Carol back with exaggerated cheerfulness. The memory makes Daryl grimace. Stupid, stupid people; they tried to pretend nothing happened, but they tried so hard it couldn't have been more evident they hadn't forgotten.

A few weeks later she did it. Carol simply walked out to the fence that protected them from the undead and opened it enough for a walker to bite her leg.

The others came running and shouting as soon as they understood what she was doing, but they weren't fast enough. They pulled her from the fence and the walkers, even though she fought them with all her strength. And they started screaming at each other, trying to decide what to do with her.

And Carol just sat there crying, begging for them to kill her. There was no way back, now.

And then Rick took an axe and cut off her leg. The others couldn't believe it, and stood there, with their mouths hanging, horrified and disbelieving. Daryl himself couldn't process it all.

"We need a tourniquet and then we need to take her to the infirmary! _Now!_" Rick had shouted.

Daryl and Michonne had been the only ones to listen to him – although they had been agreeing with Andrea that it was Carol's choice and it was already too late. The others just stared at Rick with disgust, fear and rage.

Carol didn't make it, and Daryl wasn't sure it was a bad outcome. What would Carol have done, anyway, if she'd survived? Thrown herself from the roof of the prison? There was no going back for her.

"You ok?" Billy had asked him after the funeral.

Daryl looked around. He always made sure never to interact too much with the boy when the others could see them.

"Yeah. Why?"

"I don't know… I know you two talked…" Billy muttered, unsure.

Daryl made a mocking face and kicked the ground.

"No, we didn't. And anyway, it was her choice." And he'd turned around.

When Billy snuck into his cell that night like they used to do, Daryl quickly sent him away. He didn't feel exactly guilty because of Carol's death, but he did feel some kind of remorse. He knew all too well that what he could have given her wasn't enough, but it was _something_.

It's kind of the same way he feels about Billy now. Daryl never _loved_ him – anything close to that – yet he could have done better by him. Billy saw his naïve romantic dreams crushed by Daryl's bluntness and secrecy, and yet he stayed.

They were both lonely, were they not?

"I get why you look at him like that." Billy had once muttered. He was getting dressed and stopped to look at Daryl who was falling asleep. "I know that's why you don't what them to know about us. I don't care, y'know? I just wish…" He trailed off.

Daryl froze and stared at the boy, wishing that he stopped and got the fuck out. He didn't want to hear this, didn't _need_ to hear this. It would only spoil everything.

"We're ok for now, right? I'm good enough." Billy said with a sad smile that made Daryl's heart clench and a lump form in his throat.

_What the hell was he doing?_

"Get out." He stammered, even though he wanted just the opposite. He wanted Billy to fight him and stay; he wanted Billy to say he really wasn't getting hurt and heartbroken by him and his stupidity, by Daryl and his eternal crush on Rick. He wanted Billy to stand up to him; even if it was only to tell him to go fuck himself, that he didn't need someone as fucked up as Daryl, that Daryl was nothing but a stupid asshole who was in love with a straight, married man whom he could never have.

Maybe that way he could actually _care_ about the boy, if he became strong. Like Rick.

But he wasn't like that. He didn't have it in him. So, instead, Billy only nodded and finished getting dressed. He looked at Daryl again with that sad smile and then left quietly.

–––

Daryl is looking down, lost in thought. It's always like this; he realizes only too late that he could've done better. He never wanted to do any wrong to Billy or to Carol, of course, but still, he could have tried to be… better.

Daryl sighs. It's hard to change at this point in life. And it always sounds too easy when thinking backwards. He shakes his head, trying to leave that behind.

Luckily he's used to that, so it's not so hard.

Daryl walks around the pond, and finds the Cherokee rose were he'd last seen it. Plants and animals just stayed the same, it was only humans that had fucked up something and turned into undead, clumsy creatures.

Daryl cuts the flower and looks at it. He could've done better by Sophia, and Carol, and Billy, and so many other people before the end of the world, too. He should be promising himself he will do it from now on, but he knows himself better than that. He knows that old habits are hard to kick.

So Daryl just turns around and takes the flower to Sophia's grave – the one he thinks is Sophia's, at least. He's not completely sure. It's been a long time.

–––

It's around noon, when he sees Rick. Daryl's been lazily tracking squirrels and has caught around eight of them, and he recently found an empty rabbit hole. There are some walker's tracks that mess everything up, but not too many. That's good.

Then, as he looks out to the farm house, he sees Rick digging. Daryl stops and looks at the man, trying to figure out what's he doing, but doesn't even think of going to him. He has the feeling Rick wants to be alone, otherwise he'd have his son with him, right?

Well, why should Daryl care what Rick is doing in the middle of nowhere, digging a hole and risking getting himself a nasty sunburn? It's really none of his business.

So Daryl keeps on walking, wishing he could find some deer tracks somewhere. About anything bigger than a rabbit would be fine, really. Yet he keeps peering every once in a while at Rick. He sees the man sitting down and looking around aimlessly, protecting his eyes from the sun with his hand.

Daryl finds a couple more squirrels and nails them without effort. When he collects them, he turns around once again – he can't help it – to look at the deputy.

Rick just saw a walker and is going to it. Daryl wonders if he should go too, but it's just a loner and Rick has the shovel, so he just shrugs and starts tying the new found squirrels with the rest, when something catches his eye.

Rick stops dead, and his face is going slack and pale. Daryl wonders for a second if he didn't get a heat stroke or something, before the shovel falls from Rick's grasp and he just stays there, unmoving, like a lighting had just got him. All the meanwhile, of course, the walker keeps coming at him.

"Fuck!" Daryl curses. He loads his crossbow as fast as he can and runs towards where Rick is.

The walker is getting to Rick, its hands are clawing at him, not more than just a feet away from the deputy who is still in shock or whatever, looking bug-eyed as the walker is going to eat his face right there and then.

It's like Carol all over again.

Daryl stops, because he has no more time to get any closer and aims his crossbow.

–––

_Lori._

Rick is still only thinking that, even as he sees the dead fingers from the walker come near his skin.

Then, the voice in the back of his head takes over at last.

'_That's not Lori! Lori's dead, miles from here! She got shot through the abdomen, this isn't _her_!'_

He only has time to take back a step before the thing grasps at the empty air before his face.

_Oh, God!_

He's going to die. He knows it then, and the thought terrifies him.

Go figure.

Rick takes back another couple of steps, while he clumsily fumbles for his gun; but he's not going to make it, not the way his hands are shaking and he can't feel his fingers. All he wants to do is turn around and run, but it's too late for that now and his legs are feeling like jelly. Still he's going to do it; he has to try _something_ before…

An arrow pierces the walkers' thigh, and it stumbles and falls; but, it doesn't stop going to Rick and starts to drag its hurt leg, still clawing at him.

Rick keeps walking back, unable to tear his eyes from the walker. Then another arrow pierces the thing's head, and it finally stops moving.

Rick is still staring at it.

Daryl shows up in front of him. He grabs Rick by his shirt and starts shaking him.

"What tha hell is WRONG WITH YA!" The redneck starts yelling, spitting a little. He's pale with rage. "What the hell where ya thinkin', you motherfuckin' ASSHOLE!"

Rick doesn't answer, still gaping like a fish out of the water.

"You want to get killed or what? That thang almost got ya, and ya just stood there like some kind of retard or something?'! You deaf?" Daryl asks, shaking Rick even harder.

"I…"

Rick blinks, and he comes back to reality. He suddenly feels Daryl presence, all of it, his shade, his size, the heat of his hands clutching his shirt, even his smell; it's as if he's just materialized out of thin air, and that hits him. Rick looks at the furious redneck like he didn't recognize him, because he can't figure anything of what just happened, let alone where the other man came from.

"I just…" Rick mumbles. "I don't know what…"

Daryl pulls him closer so their noses are almost touching, and looks at Rick right in the eye. Rick can only blink and stare back, while his head is still spinning.

"Ya wanna die? 'Cause if ya do, lemme know so I can pull the motherfuckin' trigger!" Daryl snarls.

Then he pushes Rick away, with an almost disgusted face. Daryl goes back to the dead walker and kicks it right in the head before yanking both of his arrows out and then storming back into the woods where he came from.

Rick just stands there, rooted to the spot, trying to figure out what has happened.

–––

That night, Rick can't sleep again, and this time he has even more things on his mind.

Daryl came back to the house in the middle of the afternoon, and he didn't seem to have calmed down at all. He didn't even look at Rick as he passed by him and into the kitchen to have something to eat. Daryl later went out again and came back late, after nightfall. And he still didn't talk to Rick, avoiding him completely.

The deputy curses under his breath. He's sure sleep isn't going to be happening anytime soon, so he puts on his shoes and walks downstairs. He peeks into the living room, and sees that Daryl is sleeping – or at least pretending to.

Rick frowns as he steps out in the porch. He signals a sleepy Glenn that he can keep watch and the Asian man smiles relief.

Ok, so he's not exactly proud of his behavior that day, freezing like that in front of a walker because it reminded him of his late wife – like if it had been Lori, it would actually have made a difference. But that doesn't call for that much anger, does it? At least not for Daryl ignoring him.

If he could at least explain… But he's sure that Daryl would tell him to stick his explanations up where the sun doesn't shine. No, Daryl's not the kind to be appeased by explanations or reasons; he just had to burn his anger down.

Well, that could take weeks, for all Rick knew.

Then again, Daryl had never ignored him before. Ever. Not when they'd found out that Sophia was dead and hidden inside the barn and the redneck ran away from everybody else; he'd still listen to Rick and did as he was asked. Not even when the whole group hated Rick; actually Daryl did quite the opposite: he talked to Rick, stood by Rick. Although, when everything went back to normal – kind of – Daryl had backed off, leaving him with the rest, keeping to himself. Still, he wasn't _ignoring_ him.

So why now? Why was this something that made him so mad? Rick himself was worried about his own sanity and his own reaction, but he wasn't mad. He wouldn't be mad if it had been the other way around, he would only be concerned.

For some reason, it saddens Rick somehow. Of course, he's sure it will resolve itself out, that the other man will come around. As always. It's not the first time – and hardly the last – that Daryl has been pissed at him (though all those times before, he was shouting, snapping, arguing, fighting).

–––

The next day, Daryl still isn't talking to him, even avoiding all eye contact. And the next day goes just the same. He's as stubborn as a mule, and his last stupid decision seems to be to pretend that Rick is dead.

And Rick grows angry in return, still not getting why this is such a big deal.

Andrea, Michonne and Glenn notice it around the second day, and watch, with raised eyebrows, as both angry men walk past each other as if the other wasn't there.

The third morning, Michonne grabs Daryl by the arm and pulls him apart.

"Ok, what's the deal with you two?" She asks bluntly.

She's the only one who dares to speak to him like that or to try and to force an answer out of him. In moments like this, Daryl regrets it.

"None of your business." He barks between clenched teeth, hoping that it will be enough for her to leave him alone.

If only.

"I'm sure it's not, but I'm also sure it's something stupid." She replies immediately. "I know you; you won't talk to him, and that's always the problem."

Daryl glares at her with narrowed eyes. She knows, he's sure she knows, or at least suspects, what he feels about the damned cop; and he doesn't appreciate that she talks about it, or even insinuates it.

He pulls himself out of her grip.

"No way. It's his own goddamn problem."

That afternoon Michonne finds Rick sitting in the porch, looking into space. She hesitates, because she's friends with Daryl, not Rick; and though she does like the deputy, she's not about to go push him like she did with Daryl.

He's the one who brings the subject up, though, when she speaks to him about a supply run they need to do soon.

"Glenn and Maggie won't go. I can go, and maybe you too. Daryl's still not talking to me, so…"He shrugs and leaves the phrase hanging.

She looks at him, carefully weighting her options.

"You should talk to him, y'know?" She says in the end.

He smirks.

"Yeah, right. Somehow, I don't see that happening." He says, shaking his head and feigning amusement.

"What happened?" Michonne asks, confused.

"It was nothing really. He just… saved me from a walker the other day. I was going to take it out, when it… It just reminded me of Lori, y'know?" He confesses in a whisper, smiling sadly. "I knew it couldn't be _her_, but still I couldn't… I couldn't move. I just stood there, and it kept coming at me. And Daryl came out of nowhere and killed it, but it was really close."

Michonne cocks an eyebrow.

"And he's mad at you because of that?"

"Seems like it. I don't get it either." Rick admits. "He asked me what the hell was wrong with me and stormed off. He offered to pull the trigger if I wanted to die, actually." He adds smirking.

Michonne looks around. She doesn't understand that stupid redneck sometimes. Then again, maybe she does.

"Melodramatic." She mutters.

"Completely." Rick agrees.

"I know it's hard to talk to him – trust me, _I know_. But if you don't want to keep acting like you're both in high school or something, you're gonna have to. He's not going to fold first."

Rick looks at her critically.

"I've often wondered how you two get along." He admits with a half grin.

"I get him to talk. I push him, and he snaps, but he talks." Michonne shrugs. "You should do the same."

Rick muses about it for a moment.

"I should try."

But he's not going to, he knows it. At least not soon. He's stubborn too.

–––

"You coward." Michonne tells Daryl unceremoniously.

She has been waiting for him in the porch, and he just got back from somewhere.

"What?" He asks, surprised.

"You coward." She repeats.

"Why?" Daryl grumbles, narrowing his eyes dangerously.

"You killed the walker that was going to get Rick, and now you're _ignoring_ him? After you _saved_ him? What the fuck's up with that? You boneless chicken." She says, shaking her head.

It's been a long, long time since someone had talked that way to Daryl. She's playing brave because she knows he wouldn't hit her, he thinks angrily. And anyway, _he_ knows that he would lose the hand if he dared to use it.

"What's it to ya?" He growls.

"What's it to me? You're both acting like children. It's uncomfortable for everybody. And I still don't get why you're _mad_."

"If he's got a death wish, I ain't gonna stand in his way." Daryl replies.

"Is this about Carol?" She asks.

Daryl stares at her. She didn't just say that.

"No."

"You don't want to lose him…" Michonne starts.

"Shut up!" Daryl snaps, stepping closer to her.

"You don't want him to die, is that it?" She rephrases it. Daryl doesn't answer; he only glares daggers at her. "You should grow a pair and go for it."

Daryl struggles to find a reply for that.

"Easy for you to say." It's all he can come up with.

"Yeah, easy. If you're worried, then _act_ worried; if you think he's gonna kill himself, ask him. You're not gonna _lose_ something you never _had_. Stop this, Daryl; how long has it been, anyway?"

He's got no good answer for that.

–––

Glenn found the guitar the day after they came back. He has been trying to tune it up, and maybe even get out something of it that sounds a little bit like music without any success. Tonight, though, he remembers that Daryl plays guitar and brings it to him.

"In case you want to play." Glenn says shrugging, while the redneck is staring at him.

"You play?" Michonne, asks, astonished.

"A little." Daryl mutters, dismissively.

"Bullshit. He's the rockstar in our little group." Glenn blurts out, grinning at Michonne.

She laughs when she sees Daryl's glare.

"Come on, play something." She urges him.

Daryl glances briefly at Rick, who's sitting next to his son at the dinner table.

"Nah."

"Oh, c'mooon!" Michonne insists, pinching his arm.

"C'moooon!" Glenn repeats, with a wicked smile.

Daryl grunts.

"Ok. Maybe outside." He says.

When they leave, Rick lets out a sigh. This is plain stupid, yet he can't be the one to break this impossible situation. Or rather, he can, but not in front of everybody else.

Andrea looks at him with an amused smile, but doesn't say anything until Carl's done eating and takes his plate to the kitchen.

"You two still fighting?" She asks then in an almost confidential tone of voice.

"Fighting, no. That would be easier. He's just ignoring me." Rick replies, feigning indifference.

"Why?"

"I have no idea." Rick says, shaking his head. He's not up to tell everybody what happened.

She gives him a knowing look and Rick knows he didn't fool her. Thankfully, she doesn't try to keep pushing it.

"Maybe you should ask him." She suggests instead, bowing her head in that little condescending way of hers.

Rick cocks an eyebrow. Why are there so many people giving him advice on how to handle Daryl, all of a sudden?

"I intend to." He answers, a bit sharply.

Andrea lifts her hands in a peace gesture, smiling. She comes closer and looks at Rick with a calculating expression.

"Do you know why we came back? To the prison?" She asks suddenly. Rick shakes his head, trying to figure out what does that have to do with anything. "He couldn't stand to leave you all behind. He never wanted to. He's pigheaded, but he's not a bad guy."

Rick blinks. He has never thought that Daryl is a_ bad guy_. Ok, maybe at first; but then he saw his softer side and changed his mind. Sure, Daryl's not sweet, but he's not mean either. Just sometimes a little cruel; especially when he's lashing out.

"I never said that." Rick tells her, frowning. "And I assumed it had been your idea."

"No, it wasn't. I didn't like to leave you either, but he was the one who said we should get back as soon as we found a safe place for the rest." Andrea says.

Rick feels that he's missing something. Before he can even get to think of asking, though, she turns around and leaves for the kitchen where Carl is talking with Beth.

Rick frowns again.

He doesn't get Daryl, he decides. This whole time, he never has. _He_ was the one who decided to return? Why would he? Then Rick remembers what his wife said, though: '_The others left. Andrea, Glenn, Maggie, Daryl, Beth. Yeah, all of them. Daryl kind of tried to kidnap you, too._' She had been trying to smile, without much success.

So, Daryl had wanted to take him with them. He'd decided to go back. He'd taken care of Rick while he was sick. He'd been the only one to talk to him in the time nobody else was. He'd had his back. He'd saved his life way too many times to count.

Oh, crap. Rick closes his eyes and drops his head. Daryl may be ill-tempered and all of those things, but he's _always_ been there for Rick_._ That's why it saddens and hurts him so much that Daryl's ignoring him, because he's come to assume he will always be there. He's somewhat of a crutch through these difficult times, sure, but he _always_ has been. And without Rick ever even asking.

He's unstable, moody, blunt, aggressive, but he's also ferociously loyal and Rick's friend. What the hell has he done in exchange? Besides spending days without talking to him.

Rick stands up and walks towards the porch where he can hear Glenn, Maggie, Daryl and Michonne talking.

"Got it?" Michonne is asking as Rick comes out the door. She's sitting on the railing, facing Daryl. Glenn is standing and Maggie is sitting next to him.

"Think so." Daryl says with an expression that's halfway between embarrassed and thoughtful. He's done tuning up the guitar and has been trying to remember the notes to a song, playing them in order to get the right ones.

He struggles a bit longer with the strings, and then nods.

"Ok."

And he starts to play. All of the others smile instantly. Rick thinks he knows this song, but he can't remember which one is it. Not yet.

It's Michonne who starts singing first. Her voice is deep and raspy, and really good.

_What'll you do when you get lonely  
And no one's waiting by your side?  
You've been running and hiding much too long.  
You know it's just your foolish pride._

Then Daryl joins in, a little begrudgingly. Glenn, Maggie and Rick only look at them in awe.

_Layla, you've got me on my knees.  
Layla, I'm begging, darling please.  
Layla, darling won't you ease my worried mind._

Seems like they've done this before, and they have. Michonne likes to sing (although none of the people there knew it before now, besides Daryl) and she knows a lot of songs, many of which Daryl likes as well. They'd spent some of the many empty hours inside the prison remembering old melodies. This particular one was one of her favorites.

Daryl keeps on playing some more songs after that one. Rick never says a thing, only watching and enjoying the sound of a little bit of music. In the end, though, Michonne comes down off the railing and excuses herself before walking around the porch and out of sight. The songs they'd been singing seem to have gotten to her, because she looks like on the verge of tears.

Glenn and Maggie seem to have lost all their will to keep on singing after that and they disappear shortly after. This leaves Rick standing there; and Daryl – who still hasn't seen him – playing random chords on the guitar with a grim look on his face.

Rick kicks himself and walks towards the railing where Michonne had been sitting and leans himself against it.

"Got a moment?" He asks without foreword.

Daryl jumps a little, because he had been lost in thought. He frowns at Rick and seems to be ready to blow him off, but then he thinks it over.

"Sure." He finally agrees, looking back at the guitar.

"I'm not sure why you're so mad at me. I'm not really going to ask. But I don't like this. It's ridiculous." Rick says, trying to sound as regretful as he feels.

Daryl doesn't look up, and keeps on scratching a loose splinter of the guitar and chewing on his lip.

"I never thanked you, by the way. For killing that walker." Rick then adds, hoping it will do the trick. It doesn't. "I wasn't planning on getting killed, you know? In case you're still planning on pulling that trigger, I mean." Rick says, trying to smile.

Daryl only stares at him and doesn't answer. Rick could've hit himself in the head. Crap, crap, crap.

"Ok, I'm sorry. But c'mon, talk to me." Rick almost pleads.

Daryl looks around. He doesn't want to do this; he completely _hates_ doing this kind of thing.

"We're good." He says, with a sigh, looking everywhere but at Rick.

Rick nods, but still he feels there's something else to be said there. Before he can ask, though, Daryl stands up.

"Wait!" Rick calls. "Come on, Daryl, say something. _Something._ I don't really get this."

"I'm sorry." Daryl says quietly, looking at his feet. "We're good."

And he leaves.

* * *

_Next chapter (The Oblivion, by DeVotchKa again) will be up over next week, hopefully. I haven't written anything yet, but the ideas are there._

Honestly, writing Carol's story and Billy's little scenes made me sad. A lot. But, anyway, it _had_ to be that way.

I do actually like Andrea (she's tough, I like tough women) but she gets on my nerves every once in a while. She _is_ condescending and pushy at times.

Sadly enough, I'm kind of an expert on avoiding the people that I care about. It's stupid and childish, yet I can't help it.

The song Daryl and Michonne sing is called "Layla", by Eric Clapton.

On a lighter note: if I ever had someone like Norman Reedus playing that song in front of me, I would turn into a big puddle of goo. The mere idea of it makes the groupie in me want to shriek (LOL).


	7. Chapter 6: The Oblivion

Holly shit! This chapter has almost 9700 words. I don't think I've ever written a chapter so long. I know I said there would be a little more of Billy here, but I think I'm gonna have to leave that for next chapter. This one's too long already.

I've decided to **split this chapter in half**, but only because of stylistic reasons – it's almost twice as long as every other chapter I've written for this fict, but in mi head this was always only **one chapter**. It just kind of went out of hand. So, next chapter will be published right after this.

I think maybe next chapter will be too long as well.

I'd like to thank **jemlou, velvetemr73 **and as always **Dropkicking Bullet Shells** for your wonderful reviews and support.

**Disclaimer:** I don't own this, and never will own this.

**Warnings:** Swearing, violence, a little gore and mild slash (nothing too graphic).

I've said it before, and I say it again: action sequences are _not_ my thing. I tried my best, though. I'd never really written anything near smut before. It isn't really graphic because that's not really something I like.

_I made some sort of deal with Dropkicking Bullet Shells that I'd upload this chapter at a certain deadline - though I'm not sure what do I gain from that deal xD._

_Note: August, 30. I finally updated the changes made by my beta._

* * *

**Chapter 6: The Oblivion (Part 1)**

_Oh, it's hard to resist  
on a night like this,  
impossible to withstand  
when you're holding my heart in your hand._

_Lay down where ever you please  
under the moon cloud masterpiece,  
may our conscience be devoured  
by the sweetness of the hour._

_Meet me down the primrose path,  
give me life and take some back.  
Oh, how I love that song  
will you play it again?  
Pour your blue tides on  
several soul girlfriends.  
Our love is sweeter than  
the oblivion._

_(DeVotchKa – The Oblivion)_

–––

Rick wakes up with the morning sun falling into his eyes. He scrunches his face immediately as he notices the throbbing pain of a killer hangover (a pain he hasn't felt in a long, long time) bouncing around his skull, pressing against his eyes. The taste of whisky is still lingering on his mouth.

He lets out a groan, wondering why the hell he drank that much, knowing how awful a hangover whiskey always gives him. Even if it _was_ Johnny Walker. Rick moves his head and bright lights flash behind his still closed eyelids. His neck and head hurt with every slight movement he makes.

It's only after a few seconds of feeling miserable and swearing to whatever ugly, twisted God is still living up there that he won't drink this much ever again – even if the idea of drinking was to finally catch a little bit of sleep –, that he notices something odd: the feeling of warmth against his neck that comes and goes rhythmically.

_Oh, God._

He has a feeling of what that is, but his mind is refusing to put it in words, refusing to even imagine it. His stomach starts feeling heavy, clenching as the thing he can't think about, but that he knows anyway, starts taking form inside his head.

For an agonizingly long moment he wishes that he was dreaming, or at least that he could go back to sleep, if only not to _know_ this. But that's not going to happen, not a chance. Fear has taken full grip of him and there's no way he can go back to sleep now. There's no way he can run away from this.

Rick opens one eye, as little as possible. Light is still hurting his eyes and his head. He risks a brief glance to his side and what he already knew – but couldn't name yet – hits him.

_Oh, _motherfucking_ God._

Daryl.

No, no, no, this can't be. Rick starts panicking. _Oh, God, no_.

Daryl's snoring softly into his neck, with an arm thrown across Rick's chest.

And even as he thinks that it's not possible, Rick remembers everything that happened the day before, when they left the farm for a supply run. In fact they're still on the road, sleeping in the back of the SUV.

_Oh, God. Oh, God._

Rick closes his eyes again and rubs his face with the hand that's not trapped between him and Daryl –_oh, Godgodgod_ –, feeling his chest tightening with a mixture of despair and guilt. This was all his fault.

–––

The supply run had been discussed for a few days. Everybody had made a list of the things they needed, besides the obvious things like food (there were still some things, especially canned goods, that hadn't expired in what had been roughly a year after the zombie outbreak).

Rick had talked with Michonne about going together to get the things, but she dropped out the minute she saw that the deputy and Daryl were talking again, giving all the excuses she could find.

Daryl looked at her with narrowed eyes, but said nothing. What _could_ he say in front of Rick, anyway?

Glenn, Maggie and Beth were out of the question, and Andrea refused to leave as well. Rick was a little uneasy about being alone with Daryl so soon. It was only two days since they had started talking again, and both men were treading lightly around each other; their old, easy comradeship had been strained and they acted a little too politely for a while. Rick thought that maybe if they'd gotten to talk, even just a little, it would've been easier and would have gotten rid of the lack of explanations that still hung between them. Fortunately, though, they seemed to be getting back on track with their friendship, and after the hour they spent getting ready and collecting requests, Rick was feeling more confident and actually liked the idea. It was best to patch up things between them soon.

The time inside the SUV was still a little awkward. Daryl was very quiet for most of the trip into the town that was their first stop; the same town where Hershel had gone to drink and where Rick had found Randall and his gang. Where he'd killed two men.

There wasn't much left to pick up in those stores, but they took what they could find. After that, Rick took out the map that they'd found in the house and discussed how to get to a slightly bigger town that had a big supermarket, according to Maggie.

Around that time, and after killing a couple of walkers and working together, almost all the tension had been defused and Daryl went back to joking a little and smiling, as if nothing had happened. Rick felt relieved and optimistic.

The next town was tougher. They avoided main roads as they'd learnt long ago, but the entrance to the town was blocked with a few abandoned cars that they had to push aside in order to keep going.

The supermarket was in the middle if the town. Fortunately, as most people had left for the big cities when the outbreak begun, they didn't find that many walkers lurking around. Still, when they parked the car (not too close to the supermarket, after making sure there wasn't any survivors around either) and went in, they had to kill several geeks, the ones that were around the store and the ones that were attracted by the noise of the SUV.

Daryl lost a couple of arrows and cursed, although he had made over twenty more of them. Rick patted his shoulder and promised to help him replace the ones he'd lost, which immediately stopped Daryl's angry mumbling.

They blocked the doors behind them, after making sure there weren't any more walkers coming towards them.

They looked around the supermarket to make sure they wouldn't be overrun. There were around ten walkers scattered around the place, so they proceeded the best they could. Around the back of the store, they found the doors that lead to the storage room locked with chains and padlocks. It was like the hospital where Rick woke up from his coma, and that made him shiver. They didn't even think about opening those doors, even though there wasn't any noise coming from inside.

They made sure that the outside was still clear before Rick took a shopping cart and headed towards the half empty counters. Daryl followed him with a smirk.

"Ya look like a soccer dad." He mocked.

"I _was_ a soccer dad." Rick admitted. "Sort of."

"You had the white picket fence house and all that crap, didn't ya?" Daryl asked, amused but also a little sullen. "Perfect family portrait over the fireplace, big front lawn?"

"I did." Rick nodded, trying not to think about it too much. Those memories were not something he liked to go over. "Though it was far from perfect, trust me."

Daryl snorted, but didn't insist, recognizing the tense tone in Rick's voice.

They roamed around the aisles, and although they were both carrying guns, knives and Daryl had his crossbow and that little quiver he'd made not long ago, it kind of took Rick back to that time when people actually _bought_ the things they needed. It was just something so mundane, and it felt so alien to do it with Daryl.

Then he smiled absentmindedly as he thought how it would've been to go out grocery shopping with Daryl when the world was still normal. God, it would've looked so weird! A cop and a redneck go into a supermarket. It was like the beginning of a joke.

"Hey, peanut butter!" Daryl exclaimed with a huge, childish grin.

Rick was reminded of Carl so much that he laughed out loud – well, Carl before the world went to shit, but still. His son didn't smile much lately, but Rick put that out of his mind for that moment, enjoying the glare Daryl gave him in return.

"What?" Daryl snapped, slightly offended.

"Nothing." Rick replied, shaking his head and still smiling. Daryl narrowed his eyes. "But I don't think it's still good."

"I know." Daryl said sarcastically. He never liked that people laughed at him.

"Carl would be happy if it was good." Rick commented as he pushed his cart past the peanut butter and looked at his shopping list.

"What did they ask for?" Daryl asked, peeking over the deputy's shoulder.

"First thing is coffee." Rick answered, looking around.

Daryl snorted again. "I feel like an old woman, with that list of yours." He scoffed.

"Bullshit. Nowadays, going to the supermarket is a dangerous business." Rick replied with his most stern expression.

Daryl looked back at him and nodded with the same seriousness before letting out a chuckle. Rick smiled too, feeling glad they could have gotten past almost all of the awkwardness from the previous days.

–––

They were almost halfway through the list when Rick said the word "tampons". Daryl practically ran away. He yanked the list from Rick and read what else did they needed before disappearing around the corner, leaving the deputy to deal with such uncomfortable things that he didn't want to know a thing about.

"What? I thought you said you had girlfriends too!" Rick shouted after him with a grin.

"Shut up!" Daryl yelled back. Rick chuckled.

Daryl didn't come back until enough time had passed so that Rick could have dealt with it. When he returned, he put a few things in the cart.

"What'd you find?" The deputy asked.

"Light bulbs, cotton, bandages... That's all that was left." Daryl shrugged.

The cotton and bandages weren't on the list, but Rick made no comment, knowing Daryl had had to buy time before getting back. Then something caught his eye and he reached to take one of the several small, bright colored boxes that now were inside the cart.

"Tropical flavors?" Ha asked, lifting an eyebrow and showing Daryl the box of condoms.

Daryl scratched his neck.

"Glenn." He muttered, embarrassed.

Rick's eyebrow got even higher on his face.

"That so?" He inquired with malice.

Daryl blinked a few times. When he got what Rick was implying, he turned bright red.

"For _him_ and _Maggie_! For God's sake!" He almost shouted.

"Oh, sorry." Rick apologized without any sincerity whatsoever, lifting his hands. "You can understand my confusion, though."

"Ass." Daryl grumbled. "He's not even my type, _trust me_."

It was the first time he ever said anything like that; something so openly, well, _gay_. And it was easier than he could've thought. It felt a little surreal and Daryl was suddenly a little lightheaded – especially because he was saying it to _Rick_. He did still half wait for a sharp reply although he knew Rick didn't mind (or so he'd said).

Rick did notice that Daryl said something he normally wouldn't, and he knew how hard it was for him to even admit he was gay. Rick was glad that the man was coming out of his shell at times.

The sharp reply, of course, didn't come. Instead Rick's grin widened and he repeated, with voice full of mischief:

"That so?"

He knew very well that the best way to stop making an issue about things was to joke about them. That way Daryl could really learn that it wasn't such a terrible thing.

"Shut up!" Daryl snapped, turning even a darker shade of red.

Well, he would learn it in time.

–––

Daryl was the one who found the whisky. It amused Rick a little how when the world had went to shit, one of the first things to disappear seemed to have been alcohol. People had strange priorities.

Daryl had been searching through the almost empty counters for a while before he suddenly let out a triumphant cry.

"What'd ya find?" Rick asked, intrigued. It had been a while since the last time they'd had a drink. Since the CDC. That seemed like another lifetime already.

"This." Daryl replied, waving a bottle of Johnny Walker, black label.

"How'd you find that?" Rick asked, amazed.

"Was there, on the back."

"Just this one?"

"Think so. People seem to have taken everything else, even the crappy stuff." Daryl commented.

"Well, I would've definitely taken Johnny here." Rick said, smiling.

With that, they were done with the supermarket, but they still had to stop at a pharmacy to get vitamins (their food wasn't exactly the most nutritious one and they were starting to get sick more and more often), and in a gun store that Maggie had marked on the map with an X, just in case.

That was when things kind of went to hell.

The pharmacy went smoothly. In and out in less than ten minutes, no biggie. The gun shop, on the other hand…

There weren't many guns or bullets left, to begin with. Rick cursed and kicked at the glass counter, which sounded horribly loud. Daryl, though, wasn't paying him much attention. He was looking around for something in specific, but didn't answer to Rick's questions until he found what he was looking for.

"Here we go!"

He was holding up a crossbow that was smaller and lighter than his own.

"You need another one?" Rick asked, still pretty angry at the empty, ransacked store, even though he knew that it was very probable they would find it like this.

"No. It's fer yer kid."

"What? For Carl?" Rick asked, dumbfounded.

"Yeah. I thought maybe he'd like one." Daryl replied, while crouching again and looking for bolts.

Rick gaped. Since when did Daryl care so much about Carl? Since when did he care about _anyone_, really, so much as to make a present? Well, that wasn't really fair, Daryl did care (in fact, Rick had recently learnt how much Daryl could care even if he didn't really show it), but still, presents didn't seem like his style at all.

"Hey, got a couple small knives here. And those sharpening stones Michonne was asking for. There's a whole lot of them." Daryl said, handing them to Rick. "She was right; everyone takes knifes, but no one thinks ahead."

Rick gave him a half smile.

Daryl's eyes widened. Rick had enough time to wonder what was the other man thinking, before Daryl took his crossbow off his back in one fluid movement.

"Shit!" He swore.

Rick moved out of the way of the crossbow and took his gun out at the same time. He cursed as well as he saw that their car had been surrounded by what he thought were around fifty walkers.

Daryl tossed the few useful things they'd found into a duffel bag and threw it over his shoulder.

"Now what?" He asked without taking his eyes off the walkers that were coming towards them

"Round the back."

They quickly crossed the door to the back of the store. There was a small hallway filled with boxes that had been flung around carelessly. And there was also only one door that leaded into a small, dirty bathroom.

"Crap!" Daryl shouted and kicked the bathroom door.

"Through the window." Rick said, pointing up.

"What? How?"

The window was high over the ground, at least 30 feet, and it was almost too small for them to fit through it. There was no way they could get out through it – not with all of their stuff, at least. The window wasn't tall, so even carrying the crossbow would be tricky; and, unless strictly necessary, there was _no way in hell_ Daryl was leaving without his crossbow.

"No, we should try the main door! We can take 'em!" Daryl added after his quick study of the bathroom.

"No, we can't! _Now_, Daryl, there's no time!" Rick urged as he closed the door to the main part of the store and tried to drag one of the empty shelves to barricade it, but it was too heavy for him.

Daryl stood there for a moment, weighing his choices. The main entrance was no longer an option, Rick was right. They had already missed that chance. And there was no back door, so they were going to have to try the window. There wasn't any other way.

Daryl huffed and helped Rick move the shelf. Once it was put in place they turned around to look at the window.

Daryl had a bad feeling about the whole situation.

"We have to get up there." Rick muttered, looking around them.

"Ya think I'm a fucking _cat_?" Daryl snapped, although he was looking all around too.

Rick didn't bother to answer to that.

"Here!" He said, running towards an abandoned chair that lay abandoned in the middle of the hallway. "We can use this. I can push you up that window."

Daryl blinked.

"What?" He asked, disbelieving. "No way."

"Why not?"

"How do _you _get out, then?"

Rick rubbed his chin.

The walkers started bumping against the door and the shelves behind them started to move.

"Shit!" Daryl muttered. The he turned to Rick with decision. "Ya get out that window, you're smaller. Lure them away somehow!"

Rick was starting to argue – he wasn't really smaller, only a little thinner – when Daryl dragged him inside the bathroom and yanked the chair from his grasp. He stood on the chair and offered his hand out.

"Now, Rick!"

Rick blinked and hesitated for a moment. It seemed hardly fair, somehow, to be the one who got the easy way out.

"But…" He started.

"Now, before I throw yer stupid ass outta that window!" Daryl huffed and pulled Rick by the arm until they were both standing on the small chair.

Rick nodded, finally, and he stepped on the bathroom sink that was slightly higher than the chair. Daryl put his hands together for Rick to put his foot in them and give him a push.

"I'm gonna distract them." Rick promised, looking at Daryl in the eye.

Daryl felt his heart clench a little and a few small but dangerous words wanting to come out of his mouth. He bit them down and nodded.

"I know ya will. If ya don't, I'm gonna go back that farm and eat ya." Daryl said, trying to smile.

Rick smiled back, even though he didn't find it funny at all – Daryl was his closest friend now, he couldn't bear to lose him too. He put his foot in Daryl's hands and jumped.

Reaching the window was easy enough. Daryl was strong and his push left Rick with his head almost sticking out of the window. Thing was, he didn't know how to get to the other side without falling head first into the pavement.

Rick locked his arms on the edge of the window and thought desperately.

"Move to the left!" Daryl told him, still supporting him by his left foot.

Rick did as he was told. The window wasn't very tall, but it was wide enough. When he was perched to the left as much as he could Daryl pushed him again. Rick threw his right leg over the window, hitting his balls against the window frame in the process. He hissed in pain and practically fell to the other side.

"Shit! Rick!" Daryl shouted. "Rick, you ok?"

Rick managed to maintain his hold on the window for a few seconds, enough time to look around. He was in a back alley, and there were a couple of walkers roaming by the end of it. Beneath him, there was a big pile of trash and cardboard boxes and Rick thanked God (or whatever) before letting go.

The fall knocked the wind out of him. He twisted his ankle and groaned, but it wasn't as bad as the pain in his groin.

"Rick!" Daryl was still calling.

"'M fine!" Rick answered as soon as he could breathe again.

Daryl kept quiet then. Rick untangled himself from the boxes and took out his knife. He took out the first walker easily, but there were two of them coming together behind the first. Rick backed away, limping a little due to the dull pain in his lower abdomen, trying to separate them.

As soon as he could, he killed the first, a big, fat male walker and jumped back before the other one, a smaller male, got to him. When he took out the last one, he went back to the window.

"Daryl, hold them back!" He yelled.

Then Rick looked around, trying to figure out what the hell could he do now.

–––

Daryl saw the shelves that held the door shaking and ran towards them. He pushed them back with all his weight and leaned against them, feeling his stomach all knotted with fear.

"Daryl, hold them back!" Rick yelled from the outside.

Daryl nodded, although he knew Rick couldn't see him, because he was unable to speak at the moment and closed his eyes for a second, feeling the racks moving more and more as the walkers kept on pushing and trying to get to him.

_'He's gonna leave ya.'_ Merle's voice said inside his head.

_No_, he thought shaking his head. Rick had said he would lure them away, he said he would distract them. He had promised.

'_Yeah, words are cheap. Why wouldn't he lie to ya? He don't care about what happens to ya. Never has, and never will. And you just _had_ to get him out first! What a nice little gentleman! And now he's gonna leave yer sorry ass, go back to the farm, tell how you _sacrificed_ yerself so he could go back, and forget this ever happened. You know that, Daryl. You know that. You… _'

"Shut up!" Daryl hissed to himself, pressing his body harder against the shelves.

No, he was past this. He was past doubting Rick. He trusted Rick. He did, he did! Rick had promised he would come back, and he would. He had promised while looking at him in the eye, and he would.

Not that Daryl had much else to hope for. If it came to that, he would try to make it through the window, even if that meant leaving his belongings behind; but until then… all he could do was wait.

* * *

(TBC…)


	8. Chapter 7: Bulletproof

**Disclaimer:** I don't own this, and never will own this.

**Warnings:** Swearing, violence, a little gore and mild slash (nothing too graphic).

I've said it before, and I say it again: action sequences are _not_ my thing. I tried my best, though.

I'd never really written anything near smut before. It isn't really graphic because that's not really something I like.

_Note: August, 30. I finally updated the changes made by my beta._

* * *

**Chapter 7: Bulletproof (Part 2)**

_Limb by limb and tooth by tooth,  
tearing up inside of me  
every day every hour  
I wish that I was bullet proof._

_Wax me,  
mould me,  
heat the pins and stab them in.  
You have turned me into this.  
Just wish that it was bullet proof._

_So pay the money and take a shot,  
lead fill the hole in me.  
I could burst a million bubbles,  
all surrogate and bullet proof._

_(Radiohead – Bulletproof… I Wish I Was)_

–––

It started to rain as Rick ran towards the main street. The only thing he could think of doing right now was the same he'd done with Glenn when they had gotten their people out of Atlanta.

He ran away from the gun store, hating himself a little for it, and dodging a few walkers that he found on the way. He cursed himself mentally for being sloppy and getting distracted. They wouldn't be in this situation if they had kept a better watch; they would have seen the herd and would have already been on their way.

He found a few cars, but all of them seemed to be just too old to have an alarm system. It was a small town, after all, so who _needed_ a car with alarms, anyway?

So he kept running, hoping not to come across a larger group of walkers on his way. Some of them were already following him, but he had no time and not many chances to kill them all without making a racket and getting overrun by the rest of the geeks in the middle of the street.

He stopped and almost lost his balance as he saw something promising around the corner. Yeah, it was a car that seemed new enough and expensive enough. So he ran to it and without any second thought shot the passenger's side window.

The alarm went off. Bingo.

Then, of course, he thought 'oh, crap'. He didn't know how to hot wire a car, Glenn was the one who did it (as he had apparently done some fairly illegal things on his time). So, he could either try to find the keys or simply run away, praying the noise would be enough to lure the herd outside the store.

Rick looked back. There were a few zombies coming his way. He thought about it for a couple of seconds, took his gun out, and shot the first two.

Hopefully, _that_ would do it.

Rick looked around, trying to map out the place in his head, and started moving again to make his way back to the store around the other way.

–––

When he saw the damned gun store again, about ten horribly slow minutes later, Rick felt relieved. Most of the herd had moved out of it; and although he would have to make his way through many walkers to get to the SUV, he could do it.

Rick stood there for a few moments to catch his breath, thinking about how he could get the rest of the walkers out of the place, or take them out at least. Then he remembered that they had in fact brought heavy stuff just in case; things that Andrea and the rest had managed to get out of the prison.

Rick breathed deep and started running towards the car. He dodged a couple of walkers before jumping inside the SUV and closing the doors. He launched himself to the back seat, looking for the black bag, and dug out a grenade.

Rick looked around. There were at least ten geeks surrounding his car and twenty more still inside the store, trying to get through the door.

Rick got out of the car and lured the walkers back, killing a few of them before running around the rest of them and into the store. He took off the ring from the grenade and threw it to the middle of the room. Rick felt a rush of panic when he saw it roll towards the door and thought of the redneck hiding behind it.

"Daryl, get down!" He shouted as loud as he could, before running back outside to take cover. He knelt next to a big mailbox and covered his ears.

The shockwave made the SUV jump and the alarm start wailing. Rick's ears were ringing a little as he stood up. Most of the walkers that had been nearby had been blown up. Some of them were several feet away, now with less limbs but moving back towards the deputy. Rick knew that it was just a matter of time before the rest of the herd came back to them, and he went into the store he had just blown up.

There were pieces of dead bodies everywhere. The stench of dead meat was incredible, and Rick covered his nose. The door to the back store had been blown off its hinges and now laid inside the narrow hallway.

"Daryl!" Rick called, suddenly scared. He hurried towards the door and tried to get it out of the way. "Daryl, you ok?!"

Rick heard a groan and saw the redneck curled on the floor beneath what was left of the shelves.

"Daryl! C'mon, we gotta go! Can you move?"

Daryl groaned again and lifted his head. He looked dizzy and there were small cuts on his arms due to the racks falling on top of him, but he was very much alive.

"Daryl!" Rick called again. He had moved the door out and was now trying to move the racks. "Can you hear me?"

Daryl moved his head aimlessly and then shook it. He grimaced. He tried to stand up, but his knees gave out.

Rick pushed with all his strength, letting out a groan, and managed to finally make enough room for him to get through. He took Daryl's arms to get him up, and the other man fought against him on reflex.

"Hey, it's me! We gotta go!" Rick said, not letting go of the redneck's arm and gripping his chin to make Daryl look at him.

Daryl blinked and seemed to recognize him, even though his eyes were still a little unfocused, because he stopped struggling. Rick threw Daryl's arm over his shoulder and started dragging him out.

"Ya came back." Daryl muttered as they crossed the now empty doorway so quietly Rick almost missed it.

"Said I would. Sorry for blowing you up." The deputy answered.

Daryl did his best to walk on his own and seemed to be god enough as they came out of the store, so Rick let go of his arm and looked at him in the eye.

"You ok?" He asked, while opening the passenger side door.

Daryl nodded and then grimaced again, putting his hands on his head. Rick looked around and saw the herd coming back.

"Shit!" He cursed.

Daryl followed his eyes and frowned. He then remembered the duffel bag with the few things they had gotten from the damned gun store, which was still lying inside, and turned around to go get it.

"What? Wait! Daryl, we got to get outta here!" Rick shouted.

Daryl didn't answer but he moved as fast as he could. He squeezed himself between the turned over racks and then he saw the bag lying on the corner. He picked it up just as he heard a shot. He turned around.

Rick was at the door of the store – or where the door used to be, anyway –, shooting the first walkers that came near. The sight made something inside Daryl's chest swell up, somehow. Rick wasn't in the car, he wasn't even trying to get to it; he was just holding their ground.

"Let's go!" Daryl said as he ran back towards the entrance.

Rick put his gun away and run towards the driver's side. Both of them had to dodge the walkers surrounding them and jumped in as the first geeks started to claw at the SUV. Rick started the car and drove away as fast as he could, leaving skid marks all over the wet street.

–––

"WOOOO HOOOO!" Daryl shouted at the top of his lungs, punching the roof of the SUV ferociously.

Rick was grinning widely too, and joined his friend's cheering. The adrenalin was pounding hard on them both, and they needed to let it go.

"Shit, that was close!" Daryl exclaimed once he'd calmed down just enough to lay against the passenger sit. "Fuckin' GEEKS!" He yelled, punching the roof again.

Rick laughed hard. He felt like his heart was going to explode inside his chest.

"Fuckin' useless town!" Rick nodded and looked over at Daryl, feeling just ecstatic that he had come out of it alive. Without thinking he gripped the other man by the shoulder and shook him. "Don't ya _ever_ do that shit again, Dixon!"

"Do what?" Daryl asked back, locking eyes with Rick and gripping his shoulder back.

"Stay behind! Making me blow up a fucking store! I'm gonna kill ya if ya pull that again on me!" Rick answered, stealing quick glances at the road between phrases, but keeping his eyes on Daryl's the rest of the time.

"It wasn't my choice, you ass! And you blew _me_ up too! I ain't doing that shit again as long as ya don't get both our asses stuck in a stupid bathroom with only a window that's 30 feet above the ground!" Daryl answered sharply, but he was still smiling and his eyes were shining with exhilaration.

Rick squeezed Daryl's shoulder again and smiled before letting go of the redneck.

"You bet."

Rick was driving fast, unable to help himself. It was lucky for them, though, that there was a turn on the road just ahead, because Rick slowed down right before he saw a big hole on the pavement that he could have missed if it hadn't been raining and he hadn't been high with adrenalin.

The SUV jumped. Rick gripped the steering wheel as hard as he could and clenched his teeth as he lost control of the car for a moment, and for a second he was sure that they were going to roll over. After a horrible moment, though, the car leveled and made a 270 degree loop before finally stopping in the middle of the road.

Rick breathed shakily. His knuckles were white, but he couldn't let go of the steering wheel just yet. They sat there for almost a minute, trying to catch their breath again before anyone moved.

Rick looked at Daryl. The other man was holding himself to the side of the car and the passenger seat like a cat, and his face was white as a sheet.

"You ok?" Rick finally asked, his voice weak.

Daryl blinked and snapped out of it.

"Y-yeah." He nodded and swallowed hard. "Ya better not pull _that_ on me again."

–––

Rick and Daryl got out of the car to study the damage. The right front tire was flat, but luckily that was it.

"Not so bad. You think there's a spare in there?" Rick wondered, pointing back at the SUV.

"Should be." Daryl shrugged, shouldering the crossbow he'd taken just in case.

They opened the back of the car and moved the thing out of the way. Rick lifted the lid from the space on the floor of the SUV where the spare tire should be and looked in.

"Nothin'." He growled and let out a frustrated sigh.

"You sure?" Daryl asked with disbelief.

"Look for yourself."

Daryl did and let out a curse.

"Well, great. Now what?" He grunted, kicking the back tire of the car.

Both of them looked around. Rain was still falling and it was getting dark, night would come in no more than half an hour.

"I think there were SUVs in the town. At the entrance." Rick said, resting him hands on his hips and making a worried face.

Daryl chewed on his lip for a moment.

"How far away ya think that is?" He asked.

"About… six, seven miles, maybe?" Rick replied, scratching his ear. They remained in silence for a few moments.

"Well… fuck. That's just fuckin' perfect." Daryl said with a sigh and sat in the bumper. "I think someone jinxed us." He then added, looking at Rick with a completely serious expression.

Rick looked at him briefly.

"I know." He nodded. "Fuckin' town."

Daryl snorted softly.

"Think we can make it?" He asked.

Rick looked up at the dark clouds that didn't seem to be going anywhere. They both had jackets, but nothing meant for the rain; and it was seven miles in the dark and the pouring rain. It wasn't as likely that they would run into a herd, but if they did, to fight and kill walkers in the pitch black night didn't seem like a smart move. They only had one flashlight they'd picked up in the pharmacy and no one could tell how long the batteries would hold up.

"I don't like it." Rick finally answered. "It's too reckless to go out there in the dark and rain. Too many things have gone wrong today, and I don't wanna make another mistake."

"So… what? We stay here? 'Til, what, dawn?" Daryl asked, stunned. And a little scared too. It couldn't be good to be stuck with Rick in the middle of nowhere.

"I think so. I don't want to go out while it's raining and dark; we won't see a thing. I don't think we should tempt our luck any further. Maybe we should stay put for a while." Rick replied while looking apologetically at Daryl.

The redneck growled.

"Fuck." He mumbled and then shrugged. "Whatever." Rick was right, it was best not to tempt their luck going out there like a couple of idiot kids in a slasher movie. Thing was, Daryl felt he was tempting his luck by staying there too.

"Be right back." He said and walked out into the woods. Rick didn't think of asking where he was going.

Daryl came back to the SUV after a while and shook his wet hair, leaving it sticking up in odd directions. Rick had climbed back in and was sitting in the driver's seat, looking at the roof of the car and letting his thoughts wander.

Daryl moved to the back seat and started going through the things they'd brought with them. They'd picked up a few clothes in the supermarket; just cheap shirts and pants, but there wasn't much to choose from nowadays anyway. Daryl took one of the plaid shirts and looked at it critically before unbuttoning the one he was wearing.

Rick cocked an eyebrow and turned to look at him.

"Trying a new style?" He scoffed. The only big difference between the shirt that Daryl was wearing and the new one was that the new one had sleeves.

Daryl narrowed his eyes at him and blushed a little, but then turned his head away.

"Piss off. It's clean. And dry." Daryl muttered before turning his back towards Rick, feeling a little self-conscious.

Rick saw the bruises and cuts left by the explosion of the store in Daryl's arms and felt a little guilty. Then something else caught his attention.

"What happened to your back?" He asked.

Daryl turned his head, trying to look at it – which reminded Rick of a cat chasing its tail.

"Where?" He asked.

"There." Rick said, pressing his index finger against one particularly nasty looking bruise that crossed Daryl's back diagonally. The redneck flinched out of his touch little he had been burnt. Then Rick got it. "The crossbow?"

Daryl shrugged and put on the new shirt as fast as he could.

"I guess." He answered a little defensive. "It hurts on the back when I run. Not to mention someone blew up the room next to me today."

"I'm sorry. I didn't know what else to do." Rick apologized, rolling his eyes good naturedly. Then he looked at the roof of the car again.

"I might have a concussion, y'know?" Daryl told him, arching an eyebrow.

"Maybe. If you do, try to puke out of the SUV, would ya?" Rick answered, smiling at Daryl through the rear view mirror.

Daryl growled something unintelligible in response. He took out his knife and started to cut and pull off the sleeves from his new shirt. Rick snorted to himself but didn't make a comment. Apparently, Daryl needed to show off his arms; but what the hell, he did have nice arms to show off.

Something tapped Rick's shoulder and he looked back. Daryl was holding the bottle of whisky and smiling at him with mischief.

"We're stuck here, might as well have a drink, don't ya think?" He said.

Rick nodded and smiled a little back.

"I say we earned it, after today." He agreed and opened the cap. And it might help him sleep as well.

–––

It wasn't long before they had moved the things to the back seat and stretched out in the back of the SUV. Rick thought it was lucky they'd taken that car, now that they were stranded and had to sleep in there. Daryl wasn't so sure, but he kept that to himself.

They'd taken out the flashlight and had it pointed towards the ceiling just to be able to see something. They opened a couple of cans – tuna and corn – and ate them while drinking from the whisky bottle. Before they were done with the food, they were already pleasantly buzzed.

"We should've brought the peanut butter." Daryl muttered, taking another sip before handing the bottle back to Rick.

The deputy snorted.

"You remind me of Carl." He commented with a smile. "He had this obsession with peanut butter. I swear to God, he could've eaten a whole jar a day for a week and still want more."

"Well, _yeah_. How can ya get bored of peanut butter?" Daryl asked back, pretending to be offended.

"I never liked it much."

"Get out of the car, _now_." Daryl replied, narrowing his eyes.

"You would throw me out in the rain for that?" Rick inquired with a laugh.

"Of course. Any day." Daryl nodded immediately. "And for blowing me up, too."

"Oh, let that go. I saved your life." Rick countered, rolling his eyes.

"Yeah, I guess you're right." Daryl agreed after a short silence.

"I still owe you. You've saved my life a lot recently."

"What, you keepin' count?" Daryl asked evasively with a smirk.

"Not really."

Rick slumped down against the SUV as the time passed, and so did Daryl.

After a while, the sadness that Rick had been struggling against lately came to the surface. It wasn't as smothering as it had been at first; it had become some sort of tired kind of grief, but it was always there, ready to jump and take over him as soon as he had a spare moment. He didn't like to talk about this kind of things, but the liquor made it easier. And it was a relief to let it go, being he had held it bottled up all this time.

"We shouldn't have tried to hold up in the prison." He said out of the blue, after a long, comfortable silence. Daryl looked at him, but didn't say anything. "I should've realized the tank was too much. We should have left as soon as I woke up."

Daryl started to pull at the sleeves of his jacket, but didn't answer. What could he say? Comfort was never his strong suit.

"All my choices have ended up bad. Well, not all of them, but a lot. I've decided I'm done calling the shots. If they ever ask again, I'm gonna stand back. I'm no good leader. I never was a leader to begin with."

Daryl took a sip of whisky and made a non-committal noise.

"Shane was a leader. I always followed him around in high school. He got me into trouble eight days out of ten, but we had fun. He was kind of a jock, so I hung out with the cool guys thanks to him. He was always plotting something, always trying to make life fun. I was too serious. I wish I had been more fun."

Daryl tightened his grip of the whisky bottle. He had never understood why Rick liked Shane so much, how he let the other man push him around and walk all over him. Why he believed him.

To think of 'Shane' and 'fun' in the same sentence didn't make any sense to Daryl, but what did he know? He only knew Shane as a bully ex-cop. And Rick seemed like a pretty fun guy to him, or at least a guy with a good sense of humor. He was grieving, obviously, and yet he managed to get distracted. He laughed or smiled at Daryl's lame jokes or comments.

(Well, it wasn't very impartial from Daryl, anyway, being how he felt about the guy.)

Be that as it may, Shane calling the shots and leading Rick into trouble in high school kind of made sense. As did the thought of Rick being kind of nerdy and serious.

Why the hell did Daryl find the thought of it kind of a turn on? He shook his head and caught Rick talking again.

"… think he always did. It's unfair, really. The only girl he couldn't have was the only one he really wanted." Rick took the bottle from Daryl and took another gulp. "That son of a bitch." He added with a tense smile.

Rick closed his eyes and rubbed his face.

"I'm sorry, I'm whining." He added quietly. "I should shut up."

Daryl shifted, a little uncomfortably.

"No, it's alright." He said. "I don't mind."

"Yes, you do." Rick replied, shaking his head. "I'm making you uncomfortable. It's just that I have no one else to talk to, but that's not your fault."

Daryl hated when people felt sorry for themselves, and he hated it even more when it came from Rick.

"Stop apologizing." He grumbled.

Rick stared at him for a long moment.

"You're a good friend, Daryl." He said.

Daryl felt a shiver go down his spine that was a mix of awkwardness, fear and a hint of pride.

"No, I'm not." He countered, taking the bottle back from Rick. He honestly didn't think so, he had never thought of himself as anything even similar to a good friend.

The deputy laughed.

"Yes, you are. But I'm not going to try to convince ya of that. I know ya better than that." He stated while resting his head back and closing his eyes.

Daryl wasn't sure what that meant, but he didn't ask.

Rick started to doze off. He could've kept on talking, but as he said, he didn't want to make Daryl uncomfortable. The guy was his support, his crutch if you will, and Rick didn't want to tick him off.

It was a wonder how Daryl Dixon managed to keep him distracted, to keep him safe from the dark thoughts that crawled inside his head. He grounded Rick, kept him tied to reality. He kept him going. Carl did so too, but it wasn't the same. Carl was a reason to keep going, yet Daryl made the trip fun.

Rick really didn't want to imagine how he would be doing without the redneck that was sipping whisky silently next to him. How ironic that someone who talked so little and was so awkward at times was so important to him.

Daryl looked over at the deputy once he noticed Rick's breathing had slowed down. He studied his face, which looked so peaceful for once, and grimaced as something in his chest hurt. God, how could he be this screwed? How could he want the guy that was so close yet so far from him? Well, on second thought, maybe that was why he wanted him.

A little part of Daryl was still hoping to find someone else, someone whom he could really have and who could end this ridiculous crush he'd had for months now. He knew the chances were against him, being the whole zombie apocalypse and everything, but still. He feared that until then, he would still long for Rick, and that killed him at times.

One could think that he'd tried it with Billy, but Daryl knew he really didn't. He had actually made his best to keep the boy away from his thoughts and worries. He never wanted to care about him. He never wanted it to be more than sex. He never wanted to break Billy's heart, either. He just had wanted to keep things casual, as he'd always had.

Daryl turned the flashlight off and stretched on the back of the SUV, trying not to touch Rick as much as he could – even though the space was minimum – and closed his eyes. He was tired and sore. Daryl listened to the other man's breathing and let it lull him into sleep. A part of him already feared this would be the only chance he was ever going to sleep near Rick, that this would be the only time they would be so close.

Well, maybe it was for the best.

–––

Daryl hadn't been asleep for too long when something woke him up. He lifted his head and listened intently, trying to make out what had startled him when Rick's arm hit him slightly and he heard the deputy's distressed breathing.

Rick was having a nightmare.

Daryl had figured that much from his lack of sleep, and he couldn't blame him after what he'd been through. God knew Daryl had nightmares too, from time to time, but he hadn't lost anyone important since his brother – and with Merle, it was always complicated.

Daryl wondered what he should do. He didn't want to let Rick have a nightmare, but maybe he shouldn't get involved in something that wasn't his business – _that_ he had learnt from his brother.

Rick kept on breathing faster and faster and Daryl couldn't stand it. He reached out and shook the other man by the shoulder.

"Hey, Rick. Wake up." He called. Nothing happened. "Hey. Hey. Rick, wake up." He repeated, speaking a little louder.

He kept on shaking the deputy for a few seconds before Rick let out a gasp and opened his eyes. He looked around, confused and panting, before remembering where he was and letting out a relieved sigh.

"Nightmare." Daryl said rather than asked.

Rick looked over at him and smiled tightly (Daryl couldn't really see it, but he could hear it).

"Yeah. Thanks for waking me up." Rick muttered, rubbing his eyes with the heels of his hands.

"You ok?" Daryl asked.

"Yeah." Rick replied too quickly.

Daryl was lying on his right side, facing Rick after waking him up. They were close because there wasn't any real space to get away from each other. Daryl wondered vaguely how it could be so comfortable to be this close all of a sudden; how did that work, being that they never really invaded each other's personal space? Maybe it was just the alcohol.

Daryl eventually let go of Rick's shoulder. The other man had calmed down, but neither of them said anything for a while

"It's always the same." Rick finally broke the silence. He sounded so very tired and sad. "The prison. I don't want to dream about that anymore."

Daryl felt a pang of sympathy for him, and after a moment of hesitation he stretched his hand and rubbed it awkwardly against Rick's hair.

The deputy was startled for a moment, but then he relaxed a little. It was strange, unusual, but not really weird in an uncomfortable way, kind of like when he had been sick and Daryl had pressed his cold hand against his neck. Daryl touched people when he didn't know what to say, Rick guessed, but then again he never really touched people too often. It only seemed to happen when there was no one around and it was dark.

Daryl wondered if he was still drunk. If he was, then, well… what the hell. He moved a little closer and laid his head down using his right arm as a pillow. He didn't mean it as making a move on Rick – although he would've liked to –, because, well… he was a coward and the timing couldn't be worst. So he just relaxed there, still running his fingers though Rick's hair quietly until Rick turned to face him. Then he dropped his hand quickly and braced for the worst.

"You're a good friend, Daryl." Rick repeated.

Daryl's heart pushed in painfully, but he didn't say anything. Rick then put his own hand on Daryl's head and pressed their foreheads together.

Daryl felt he was drowning, but tried not to show it; tried to keep his breathing under control even though it felt as if someone had punched him in the stomach. Rick, drunk as he still was, remained oblivious to the other man's struggle and patted his shoulder. It was only then that he noticed that Daryl was shaking.

"You ok?" He asked, suddenly worried.

Daryl nodded and moved slightly away from him, just enough that they weren't touching anymore.

"Yeah. Just tired." Daryl lied stiffly.

Rick frowned but didn't push it. He patted Daryl's shoulder once again in a reassuring way.

"Go back to sleep. I'm sorry if I wake you." He said.

"'Ts alright." Daryl mumbled.

Rick's still intoxicated brain seemed to slip then. He had been aware of the hot breath against his face, but suddenly that feeling seemed way too important; suddenly he felt the heat of the other body next to his own. He'd missed that. Rick felt a wave of something akin to fear, followed by something different, darker, and very familiar.

He swallowed and closed his eyes. Oh, he shouldn't go there, he really shouldn't. But the more he thought about it, the more he seemed to feel – the warmth, the sound of the other man's uneven breathing, the touch of Daryl's jacket and the arm that kept on shivering beneath it.

Rick didn't really think about what he was doing when he kissed Daryl. Their noses were touching because of the awkward angle. Rick's hand found its way onto Daryl's neck. All Rick really knew was that he suddenly felt that shaky breathing against his face and he liked it, he needed more of that. So he moved closer and pressed his body against the other one next to his as he tried to deepen the sloppy kiss.

Daryl tasted like whisky.

Daryl snapped out of his shock just a little when Rick came closer. His head started spinning. This couldn't be real, this couldn't be happening; and yet, even if it wasn't real, he decided to go along and enjoy this little lie. He feared that if he let go, it would disappear, it would end.

Daryl took Rick's face between his hands and pushed the deputy back so he could move on top of Rick and take control. Rick was caught off guard by Daryl's roughness, but he soon started to fight back for dominance. He wasn't used to be the one being led on; he was always the one who took the lead.

Daryl suddenly retreated, breathing heavily against his wet, bruised lips. Rick didn't want to stop the thing that felt so good, he didn't want to _think,_ so he chased after Daryl's mouth and grabbed the other man's head between his hands.

It was only after a few minutes that he realized that Daryl had driven one leg between his own, and that said leg was rubbing unashamedly against his groin. Rick felt again that wave of fear mixed with lust. He should stop this before it got too far, and yet he wouldn't. No, he wanted to be stupid and reckless.

So he started grinding his hips against Daryl's, all the while chasing Daryl's tongue inside his mouth, shivering when foreign hands pulled up his shirt and started roaming all over, leaving a path of heat under their touch, diving his own hands under clothes and touching as much skin as he could, growling deep when teeth and lips started sucking and nipping at his neck.

At some point, Rick decided to flip them over and Daryl was caught off guard, just like Rick had been. For a split second, he feared it was over, but Rick never stopped touching him and he laid on top of Daryl as soon as he could. So Daryl just shook those thoughts away and concentrated on enjoying the feelings, the moment. Somewhere in the back of his dizzy mind he knew that he should make the most of it before it was over, before they had to be rational again and it all went to hell.

Rick ripped off a few buttons from his new shirt and Daryl laughed in his mouth, but didn't talk. They couldn't talk or else it would be spoiled. So when Rick attacked his neck, like Daryl had done before, he took care not to say any of the treacherous words that kept wandering up his throat and only let out incoherent groans and took the time to drag his hands up and down Rick's torso under his shirt.

Rick's hands found their way to Daryl's waistband and hesitated for a while before unzipping him. Daryl wanted to ask him if he was sure, if this was alright, but he kept his mouth shut – figuratively. Not talking was the rule. Instead, he waited until Rick's hand was around him to make sure before he returned the favor.

It was rough and fast and sloppy, but none of them complained. Maybe it was what they needed; imperfect, uncoordinated movements that made them feel alive. They'd almost died several times that day, after all.

Daryl came with a deep throat growl, arching his back like a cat. He pulled Rick back down for another kiss, and it wasn't long before the deputy let out a similar moan of his own that ghosted over Daryl's parted lips.

Rick rolled to his side and laid on his back, panting a little. He let the wave of fulfillment carry him back to sleep; carefully avoiding any thoughts about what had just happened, about what they had just done.

Daryl did just the same and they were both out before long.

–––

Now, on the morning after and with a head-splitting hangover, Rick is wide awake, sober and rational again. All he can think of, though, is _Oh, God, Oh, God_, albeit he doesn't believe in God anymore. It's a habit of sorts.

He's screwed. He has ruined everything. Only a few hours ago, he had been thinking about how much the damned redneck meant to him. And then he had gone and done this.

It wasn't more than three days ago that Daryl was avoiding the very sight of him. And Rick goes and does this.

And he's not even gay.

And Daryl is currently something close to his best friend, and, as everybody knows, _you don't fuck your best friend_ (there had been no real fucking involved, but close enough). No matter how drunk, lonely, fucked up, depressed you are. You just _don't_.

And you don't go jumping someone else's bones a couple of weeks after your spouse died.

_Oh, motherfucking God. Oh, holly God._

Rick feels out of breath. He needs to move away, to get out of the car. Now.

(He does stop to think, though, that it feels kind of good to have Daryl's arm around him, like in those dreams he's had a couple of times. The only times he hasn't had nightmares is when he dreams with Daryl. But that is only because he's missed human contact; he's just lonely. That's all.)

Rick crawls away from the still sleeping Dixon and opens the back door of the SUV; he gets out and shuts the door as quietly as possible. Rick can't help but feeling he's sneaking out like a criminal. It's only when he's out that he notices that his pants are still unzipped and he feels like crying for a second.

Rick rearranges his clothes and starts pacing around.

_Oh, God, what have I've done? What can I do now?_

* * *

_I don't know when next chapter will be finished. I'm going through some kind of small writer's block (I know what I have to write, but it's simply not working). And next week I have my last exams for this semester (I'm scared D:). I'm hoping that maybe next weekend - meaning 14th, 15th july- there will be something._

Reviews are always appreciated C:.


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